CAPITOL REEF NATIONAL PARK

WEDNESDAYS WITH DR. JOE

SOUTHWEST NATIONAL PARKS #4

 

CAPITOL REEF NATIONAL PARK

 

Dec. 14, 2011

In all probability, most of our readers have never even heard of Capitol Reef National Park.  Where’s that? you may wonder; if it’s anywhere most likely it’s some island park somewhere in the Pacific or Atlantic oceans. Instead, it’s situated in one of the driest sections of our nation.

 

It came by its name because early pioneers in westward-bound wagon trains felt its topography (featuring many dome-like sandstone rock formations) reminded them of the Capitol dome in Washington, D.C.  Secondly, because it had been, since time immemorial, a 100-mile-long reef-like obstruction to east/west traffic.  Indeed, it ended up being the last-explored territory in the lower 48 states.

Not until 1853 did an explorer even get close.  But Captain John W. Gunnison, seeking a transcontinental east/west train route, never made it into the interior.  Later that year, John C. Fremont, following upon Gunnison’s exploration, actually made it into the heart of the range.  He was, in turn, followed by John Wesley Powell, who named the river running through it, the Fremont.

 

Outlaw bands, such as Butch Cassidy and his gang are reputed to have hidden out in the towering wrinkle of rock, honeycombed with cliffs, canyons, knobs, monoliths, spires, slots, alcoves, arches, and natural bridges.

 

Brigham Young sent Mormon pioneers to settle here in 1880.  In a little two-hundred-acre river valley they named Fruita, they settled in, complete with a blacksmith shop, one-room schoolhouse, barns, and 2700 apple, peach, cherry, pear, and apricot trees.  The little settlement lasted for sixty years—finally, the desolation, isolation, and loneliness got to them, and they moved out in 1940.

 

Franklin D. Roosevelt first made it a national monument in 1937; it did not achieve national park status until 1971.  But relatively few visitors come here to explore its 241,900 acres; and of those who do, fewer yet venture off the two paved roads into the dirt roads of the interior, which is a pity, for they thereby miss some of the most magnificent scenery in the Southwest.  Especially legendary are sections such as Upper Cathedral Valley, so monolithic early explorers likened many formations to Gothic cathedrals.

 

Of the five national parks in Utah’s fabled Colorado Plateau, Zion gets the most visitors, by far; followed by Arches, Bryce, Capitol Reef, and Canyonlands.

 

OUR OWN JOURNEY

After a good breakfast at the Moab Best Western, we looped north on 191 to Interstate 70, headed west, then turned south on Hwy 24.  Two mountain ranges so dominate southeastern Utah that rarely are both the La Sal and the Henry Mountains out of view.  As for the Henrys, they rise like a great windjammer at full sail.  Some years ago, in my faithful red Toyota I’d dubbed “Eloquent,” I’d driven here on a sabbatical.  Foolishly, I’d taken Eloquent up into the Henrys; after crossing over the crest of the highest of the three Henrys, I all but lost Eloquent in the loose shale on the western side.  Many the time I had to back up with spinning wheels, then race down in hopes I could get enough momentum to make it to the top of the next hill—again, again, and yet again.  No cars at all on the road!  I finally got back to Hanksville riding on fumes in an all but empty gas-tank.

 

Now, as the Henrys came into view, I took a long lingering look at its now snow-capped peaks, stopped for photos, and we reboarded and headed west along the Fremont River to Capitol Reef, the Henrys our constant companions to our south.  To say we didn’t do justice to Capitol Reef would be a gross understatement.  We didn’t even have time in our tight schedule to take the nine-mile scenic spur (the only other paved road in the park).  We only had time to shutterbug along the Fremont, in the Fruita orchards, at the schoolhouse, and spend ample time in the park visitor center.

Anyone who fails to take advantage of the generally informative and sometimes splendid visitor centers in our national parks and monuments will later suffer for the omission, for those videos and films enrich your actual experiences and compensate for all you fail to see.  We saw enough of the latter here in Capitol Reef to make us sigh and vow to return when we have the time—and four-wheel-drive—to enable us to venture into the hundred-mile north-south Waterpocket Fold that contains the park’s real treasures.

 

In one respect, Capitol Reef National Park towers over all other park visitor centers: the video footage comes to its memorable conclusion, the curtains slowly part and are pulled wide; behind: a magnificent panorama anchored by a castle-like fortress of rainbow-colored rock.  It took our breath away!

 

After delaying as long as we could, we reboarded the Lincoln and continued west.  In no time at all, we’d exited the park.

 

Next is Bryce National Park!

 

CORRECTION FOR BLOG #40, SERIES #2

 

Gus Scott, one of our sharp-eyed readers, has corrected me: “Sipapu, Kachina, and Owachoma arches are in Natural Bridges National Monument, and not in Canyonlands National Park.”

Many thanks, Gus.

 

SOURCES

 

Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred Knopf/Random House, 2009).

 

Leeth, Dan, “Utah’s Forgotten Park,” featured in May/June 2011 AAA Encompass.

 

The Most Scenic Drives in America (Pleasantville, NY: Reader’s Digest, Inc., 1997).

 

Olson, Virgil J. and Helen, Capitol Reef: The Story Behind the Scenery (Wickenburg, AZ: K. C. Publications, 1990).

 

White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, DC., National Geographic Society, 2009).

WILLIAMSONS AND TRAVEL

 

WILLIAMSONS AND TRAVEL

For Oct. 19, 2011

As we begin to pack our suitcases for our auto-trip through our Southwestern national park lodges, I thought this would be the perfect time to see if I couldn’t siphon some money out of your pockets.  After all, that’s what’s been happening to me ever since the first time I stumbled on a Williamson book many years ago.

Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to travel when the automobile was new?  When there were no transcontinental highways (how about hardly any paved roads at all!), motels, service stations, AAA, repair garages, etc.?  Not to mention automobiles that broke down so often that only the foolish traveled without a chauffeur, mechanic, and ample supply of spare parts and tires.

Well, imagine no more.  Back in 1902, an adventuresome British husband and wife writing team, C.M. and A.M. Williamson, partnered with Doubleday Page to produce one of the most fascinating and informative series of travel novels ever written.  Before they could write such a book, however, the fearless couple had to themselves explore a given travel route.  In the process, they devoured local travel lore, legends, history, historical romances—all kinds of fascinating side trips.  Then they incorporated all the usual mechanical breakdowns, and stirred in enough romance to keep the reader up half the night turning pages.  In short, there has never been another series like theirs!  There could not be, for the age vanished almost as quickly as it began.

Following are the books I have been able to find (first editions when possible):

  •   The Princess Passes                                (1903-4)                         Early automobile
  • The Lightning Conductor                        (1903, 1905)                 Early automobile
  • My Friend the Chauffeur                         (1905)                              Early automobile
  • Lady Betty Across the Water                 (1906)                         General early travel
  • Rosemary in Search of a Father            (1906 – 1907)            General early travel
  • The Princess Virginia                               (1907)                         General early travel
  • The Chaperon                                              (1907 – 1908)            Water travel
  • Set in Silver                                                 (1909)                         Early automobile
  • The Motor Maid                                         (1910)                        Early automobile
  • Lord Loveland Discovers America      (1910)                         Early American travel
  • The Golden Silence                                     (1911)        Travel in desert lands (including camel transportation)
  • The Port of Adventure                         (1913)                         General travel
  • It Happened in Egypt                          (1914)                         Egyptian travel
  • Secret History                                        (1915)                         Early airplane travel
  • The Lightning Conductor                    (1916)                         Early automobile Discovers America
  • Winnie Childs: Shop Girl                    (1916)                          General romance
  • Everyman’s Land                                    (1918)                        End of World War I travel
  • The Lion’s Mouse                                    (1919)                         Post-war travel
  • The Second Latchkey                             (1920)                         General
                                                                                               

Here are some passages from their 1905 novel, My Friend the Chauffeur, that will give you a sense of their writing style:

In France: “. . . we moved like a ship under full sail; but suddenly the road reared up on its hind feet and stood almost erect, as though it had been frightened by the huge snow-capped mountains that all at once crowded round us.  An icy wind rushed down from the tops of the great white towers, as if with the swooping wings of a giant bird, and it took our car’s breath away” (118-19).

In Italy: “It [Certosa of Pavia] was too beautiful to chatter about.  But it did seem strange that so pure and lovely a building could have owed its existence to a crime.  I had heard Mr. Barrymore telling Mamma that it was originally founded in thirteen hundred and something, by the first Duke of Milan with the view of taking off the attention of Heaven from a murder he had committed—quite in his own family—which got rid of his father-in-law, and all the father-in-law’s sons and daughters at the same time.  No wonder it took a whole Certosa to atone for it. . . .”(164).

Bellagio, on Lake Como: “The rest of the party were on an entrancing terrace, looking down over other flowery terraces upon the town of Bellagio, with its charming old campanile, and its grey roofs like a flock of doves clustering together on the border of the lake.  The water was so clear and still that the big hotels and villas on the opposite shore seemed to have fallen in head down, and each little red-and-white canopied boat waiting for passengers at the quay had its double in the bright blue mirror.  Clouds and mountains were all reflected too, and it seemed as if one might take one’s choice between the real world and the dream world” (192).

My favorite passage from the book, however, is from Maida (the loveliest passenger in this ancient Panhard automobile) who plaintively poses this rhetorical question: “What becomes of the beautiful army of days marching away from us into the past?  The wonderful days, each one differing from all the others: some shining in our memory, in glory of purple and gold, that we saw only as they passed, with the setting of the sun; some smiling back at us, in their pale spring dress of green and rose; some weeping in gray; but all moving at the same pace along the same road?  The strange days that have given us everything they had to give, and yet have taken from us little pieces of our souls.  Where do the days go?  There must be some splendid world where, when they have passed down to the end of the long road, they all live together like queens, waited upon by those black slaves, the nights that have followed them like their shadows, holding up their robes.

“I’ve had this thought in my mind often since I have been flashing across Europe in an automobile, grudging each day that slipped away from me and would not stay a moment longer because I loved it.  I wish I knew the way to the land where the days that have passed live; for when those that are to come seem cold to me, I would like to go and pay the old ones a visit.  How well I would know their faces, and how glad I would be to see them again in their own world!” (205).

If you too are getting the Williamson bug, just log on the Internet and begin chasing down these wonderful travel romances.  Your travel life will never afterwards be the same!

* * *

Next Wednesday, we’ll ourselves hit the road.  Please come along.


ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

She had no way of knowing – the dear girl – what those two apparently unrelated questions would do to me: How they would wrench the rocket of our lives out of one trajectory and thrust it willy-nilly into another, destination unknown.

But life is like that, epiphanies are like that: only in retrospect are we able to track down cause from the effect.

*******

It was a snowy December morning like so many others, before or since, when that first question happened. After one of my English classes, Naomi Snowdy (one of our English majors), skipped preliminaries and small talk, saying, “Dr. Wheeler, I’m so sick of dorm regulations and cafeteria food that if I have to endure another weekend of it I think I’ll go stark raving mad! Can I come home with you this weekend?”

I called my wife and quoted Naomi to her. She laughed and said, “Sure, I can remember feeling that way, too, during college. Tell her she’s welcome.”

So the stage was set. I can see it now as though it were yesterday rather than 21 long years ago. We’d reached our Annapolis home, on the shores of Maryland’s shimmering Severn River. Naomi had unpacked, we’d eaten a delicious supper, the wind was howling outside, and the snow was slashing at our windows.

After dinner, exhausted from the long week, I leaned back into my big brown easy chair, across from a cracking fire and Naomi. She had a contemplative look in her eyes that I mistook for a look of blissful gratitude that she had a break with little to do, for that was what I was thinking.

Oh, it all started so innocently! She leaned toward me, and said softly, conversationally, “Dr. Wheeler, have you ever thought of writing a Christmas story?”

Unaware of my doom, and just as relaxed as she, I lazily answered, “Yes, I’ve thought of it.”

“Well, why haven’t you?” “Oh, I will – someday.”

I had not a clue about what was behind that ostensibly dreamy look in Naomi’s eyes. But now, after all these years, I’ve finally pieced it together.

Naomi was in my creative writing class, the victim of many of my deadlines during the semester. I was completely blindsided by her reversal of roles as she sat up straight, lost the dreamy look, and barked out a question that was really a command: “Why don’t you write it tonight?”

Tonight? I looked at her unbelievingly. Surely she was just kidding.

Inexorably she responded with, “Yes, tonight. It’s going to snow all weekend anyway, so what else are we going to do? Besides” – and she gave me a malicious smirk – “I want to proof your story.”

I couldn’t believe it: sweet, soft-spoken Naomi turning out to be a tyrant in disguise! But try as I did to beg off, to get out of it, Naomi was as intransigent as Gibraltar . . . and my wife, Connie, was no help either. She just laughed and sided with Naomi, so it was two against one – no, make that three against one. My last hope was that the good Lord, in His great mercy, would grant me a severe case of writer’s block – that way I wouldn’t have to write the miserable thing. But God ganged up on me, too. Virtually instantaneously, He gave me a full-blown plot. All I had to do was flesh it out and write it.

So, I dutifully wrote all evening, all day Saturday, and part of Sunday. As fast as I completed a page, Naomi would snatch it out of my hands, read it, scribble viciously on it, and hand it back, saying, “Fix it!” . . . So that was my “relaxing” weekend. Eventually we finished. The story even had a name: appropriately, we titled it “The Snow of Christmas.” The topic was a young husband who deserted his lovely wife and young daughter one Christmas.

In creative writing class that next Monday morning, Naomi took fiendish delight in regaling her classmates with the story of the weekend and she handed out copies of my story to everyone. That started a chain of dominoes that are toppling still. I gave out copies to colleagues, friends, and family –

Big mistake! For next Christmas season, people said, “Well, you wrote a Christmas story last year – so what’s keeping you from writing one this year?”

So I wrote “The Bells of Christmas Eve,” ostensibly for my American literature class. Since my students were reading Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, I wrote this Christmas romance, set in Switzerland (about a little-known interlude in Alcott’s life), as a gift to them.

No big deal! Or so it seemed.

GRAND COULEE DAM

Early the next morning ,we sat out on the deck, enjoying the music of the river—across the river a doe and her fawn daintily stepped down the embankment to the river. Bob and I locked up the hot tub we’d used the night before. It hadn’t done its job: the bugs were still with us. We ate a forgettable breakfast in one of the only cafes open early in the morning, packed the car, and drove south out of Winthrop on hwy 20.

CHIEF JOSEPH

Metal statue of Chief Joseph

Passing through miles of fruit-laden trees in the famous Okanogan Valley, we just had to stop for a large bag of just-picked cherries. Since Connie’s folks once had a huge cherry tree in their yard, every cherry season she yearns for a cherry fix. At Omak, we turned east on hwy 155. As we approached Nespelem, Bob (who was navigating at the time) suggested we stop there in order to learn more about the legendary Nez Percé Indian Chief Joseph (1840-1904). Undoubtedly, his is one of the saddest and darkest stories in American history. His only sin was that he did his best to get Washington to honor its treaties with his people. His was the genius in the Nez Percé War, as he fought and retreated with his 250 warriors over 1,600 miles of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana. After a two-day battle at Kamiah, Idaho, he and his people were caught by Gen. Nelson Miles, only 40 miles from the Canadian border. It was then that the broken-hearted chief uttered those famous words, “Hear me, my chiefs; my heart is sick and sad. From where the Sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.” In spite of promises made by U.S. authorities, Joseph and his band, in 1878, were sent to a barren reservation in Oklahoma, where many sickened and died. Not until 1885 were he and the remnants of his band permitted to go back to Washington state—but not to the Wallowa Valley. Twice he journeyed to Washington to plead for the return of his people to their beloved valley, once with President Teddy Roosevelt personally. It was in vain.

Chief Joseph Memorial Stone

By asking some of the Native Americans in Nespelem where his grave might be, we learned it was on top of a nearby hill in an old cemetery—under a tree. There we finally found it, graced only by a modest marble statue, with the words etched on it slowly fading out of existence. If there was ever a figure in American history who deserves better historical treatment than this, it has to be Chief Joseph. Even to this day, his people have not been permitted to go home. Their lives are still controlled by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in the nearby town of Colville. The Grand Coulee Dam flooded their best land and destroyed their salmon-based way of life.

SERENDIPITOUS COINCIDENCE

We next moved on to Grand Coulee Dam—long on Bob’s bucket list. I’d known about it all my life but knew little about it. Gradually our road dropped down, following a canyon off to the side. Suddenly, around the corner, there it was, so huge it was difficult to gain perspective—even more difficult to get a photo of. First of all, we drove up to the headquarters so Connie could get her U.S. Parks Passport stamped. Then we stopped at the large visitor center adjacent to the dam. We learned much studying the exhibits and watching the short film—but I’ve learned even more since.

Overcoming daunting odds, the polio-crippled patrician, Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been elected President in 1932, in the deepest depths of the Great Depression. He promised a New Deal for the average beaten-down American: to revive farm prosperity (America was still predominantly rural then), to rehabilitate the railroads, to regulate banks and security exchanges, to increase the development of electric power, to embark on a broad program of public works, to tackle unemployment, build roads, and solemnly promised, “No American shall starve.”

Unlike many politicians, Roosevelt determined to deliver on each promise. My maternal grandfather, Herbert Norton Leininger, of Arcata, California, with seven children and a wife to support, had lost his business. In desperation, he wrote FDR a letter, asking—not for dole, for Grandpa was a proud man—but for a job! Within minutes of the letter getting to the White House, it always seemed to Grandpa, a telephone call was made from the White House to the person in charge of federal hiring in Humboldt County, with the directive, Get Herbert Leininger a job! And he got it. Grandpa never forgot!

Before this trip, I had no idea the Columbia River was so significant. It is born high in the Canadian Rockies. Of its 1,214-mile length, 460 miles (or 38% of it) is in Canada; perhaps the most spectacular portion of it in the Columbia Mountains (Cariboo, Monashee, Selkirk, and Purcell Mountain ranges, each range towering over 10,000 feet high). Also in British Columbia the great North and South Arrow Lake the Columbia flows through before it reaches Grand Coulee Dam, where it backs up 151 miles to the Canadian Border in Lake Roosevelt. For 300 miles it separates the states of Oregon and Washington. Its drainage basin is vast (258,000 square miles). It is the largest river in North America in terms of the sheer volume of water flowing into the Pacific. It produces 30% of all the hydroelectric power in the nation. And had it not been for the vision of FDR, it is doubtful the dam would ever have been constructed.

North side of Grand Coulee Dam

For a long time prior to FDR’s presidency, debate—more often than not heated—had been going on in the Northwest about how it might be possible to harness the tremendous power of the Columbia River for both hydroelectric and irrigation purposes. But there was no consensus: one side (the so-called “pumpers”) wanted to pump water from behind a dam. The pumpers were generally in favor of hydroelectric power. The ditchers, on the other hand, wanted to irrigate the Columbia basin with water from the Pend Oreille River.

Grand Coulee Dam came about because of a promise FDR made to Washington Senator Clarence Dill: that if he was elected president, he’d build a big dam on the Columbia. Initially, Roosevelt balked at the projected price tag: $450,000,000—more than the Panama Canal. Roosevelt said he could, however, support the building of a lower dam: 150 feet high rather than the proposed 550. It was a pragmatic victory as it quieted the critics. Later on, since a high dam would generate eight times the income of the low one, it was decided to go ahead with the original plan.

South side of Grand Coulee Dam

Construction began in 1933 and was completed on March 12, 1938. It certainly accomplished another Roosevelt objective, as it gave thousands of men jobs, but 77 men died during its construction. The completed dam exhausts superlatives: it is more than twice the height of Niagara Falls. It is 550 feet high, 480 feet wide at the base, and (with the third powerhouse), almost a mile long (5,223 feet). All the pyramids at Giza could fit within the total area of its base. There are over eight and a half miles of corridors inside it. At the time it was constructed, it was the largest masonry structure ever erected by man; other than the Great Wall of China, the only man-made structure in history larger in mass than the Great Pyramid of Khufu. There is enough concrete in it to build a four-inch thick four-lane-highway 60 feet wide, 3,000 miles long, from California to Florida. Even today, with all the other mega dams that have been constructed around the world, it is still the largest all-concrete dam ever built. Its Frank D. Roosevelt Lake is 151 miles long with 600 miles of shoreline.

And the “serendipitous Coincidence?” It is this. As I pointed out in Blog #46 on September 29, we had inadvertently retraced Roosevelt’s steps: Timberline Lodge on September 28, 1937; Crescent Lake Lodge on September 30, and Lake Quinault Lodge on October 1. So you can imagine how I felt when I discovered that the very next day after Roosevelt left Lake Quinault Lodge: on October 2, the President visited Grand Coulee Dam!

SPECIAL NOTE: Next week we visit Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park.

SOURCES

Bottenberg, Ray, Grand Coulee Dam (Charleston, SC: Arcadia publishing, 2008).

Encyclopedia Britannica. 1946 and 1964 editions.

“Grand Coulee Dam Statistics and Facts,” U.S. Department of the Interior document.

“Grand Coulee Dam,” Wikipedia reprint.

“Grand Coulee Dam: History and purpose,” Alpha Index document.

Oregon and Washington Tour Book (Heathrow, Florida: AAA Publishing, 2010).

LAKE QUINAULT LODGE

Rarely has it been as difficult to leave a motel as it was the Enzian Inn—in fact, labeling it as just another “motel” seems almost an insult. Until this trip, I’d never really had a feel for what made Washington Washington: how its circulating system works. Now I discovered that I-90 slices it in the middle; Hwy 14 meanders along the Columbia; Hwy 101 almost circles the Olympics; but the true heart of its mountain treasure chest can be found only in the Cascade Loop: Take Hwy 2 east from I-5 at Everett until merging wit Hwy 97, go north until you merge with Hwy 20; travel west on it until you’re back to I-5 at Burlington. Today we traveled west on 2, through the Tumwater Canyon, over 4,060 foot Stevens Pass (a popular ski area), by jagged and forbidding 6,000 foot Mount Index with its lacy waterfalls, followed the Skykomish River, until we reached Hwy 522, angled down to I-405, veering over to I-5, and south until we could escape on Hwy 12, continuing west until we picked up Hwy 101 north, arriving at our nephew Byron Palmer’s third and last must-see on our trip—Lake Quinault. But I must not leave out the fact that Quinault had been on Bob’s personal bucket list ever since he read about it in Barnes’ book on park lodges.

Lake Quinault Lodge

As we parked outside Lake Quinault Lodge, we all breathed a giant sigh of relief: two whole days without having to re-pack our suitcases and move on! It was heavenly. We were lucky enough to snag rooms 107 and 105 in the main lodge (remember those numbers for they’ll come into play before we leave. As we walked into the lodge’s great hall, one word came to me: Serenity. It was the most serene place we’d stayed at so far. We felt the pressures ebbing away—even more so when we heard a screech from Bob that could have been heard back in Tennessee: “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” It’s a wonder hotel management didn’t evict us immediately. Yes, he’d found that wretched little driver’s license: it had been sneakily hiding in a fold of his suitcase all this time. For the first time in days, we could all relax. Especially poor Lucy, who’d had to bear the brunt of his misery.

Rain forest

It was a deceptively beautiful day. Outside, guests were basking in the sun in Adirondack lounge chairs on the extensive lawn sloping down to the lake. “Deceptive,” because Lake Quinault is part of the Olympic Rain Forest. Strangely enough, the 925,000 acre Olympic National Park was one of the last places in the lower 48 to be explored (not until the late nineteenth century). 95% of the park, even today, is designated as wilderness; no roads cross its heartland. 7,980 foot Mount Olympus, overlaid with glaciers, dominates the park. The Quinault Rain Forest is the wettest place in the lower 48; the Hoh River Valley, for instance, can receive up to 170 inches of rain annually. Had we only realized just how wet it normally was, we’d have taken more advantage of our first day. Instead, Connie and Lucy found a nearby laundry and washed/dried our clothes. We’ve discovered that when you’re traveling light, you need to wash clothes every week.

Ken Burns, in his riveting National Park series revealed just how close a call this park had. During the last 48 hours of his presidency, Teddy Roosevelt used the Antiquities Act to set aside 615,000 acres as Mount Olympus National Monument. Unfortunately, President Woodrow Wilson crumbled to pressure from logging interests and cut it in half. At stake was the largest specimens of Douglas fir, red cedar, Sitka spruce, and western hemlock in the world. Ten different times attempts were made to protect the area—each time, timber interests won out. Upon the counsel of Harold Ickes, FDR, in 1937, went out to Washington to study the situation for himself. But timber interests did their best to hide what was happening from him—but fortunately he got wise in time. Just as loggers were approaching the last virgin stand of rain forest, on June 29, 1939, Roosevelt signed the bill that created Olympic National Park. (Duncan and Burns, 298).

REAMER THE DREAMER

We had no idea when we began this national parks trip that it would prove to be such a journey of discoveries. One of which had to do with an architect we’d never heard of before: Robert Reamer. His biographer, Ruth Quinn, titled her splendid book on his life and works Weaver of Dreams, for that’s what he was. And we have been privileged to stay in three of his great lodges on this trip: Lake Quinault, Old Faithful, and Lake Yellowstone Hotel.

On August 28, 1924, the previous Quinault Lake Hotel burned to the ground; since a new one was needed right away, Robert Weaver was chosen to design it. Being that they needed to reopen the new hotel right away, on June 9, 1926, a crew of 35 – 40 men arrived at the site; 100,000 board feet of virgin timber was hauled in; and bonfires were lit at night so that the men could work around the clock. Incredibly, it had its grand opening on August 18.

Each of Reamer’s creations has its own distinct style—he never went back or cloned. In this case, Frank and Estella McNeil desired a hotel that was elegant yet homey. Miraculously, that is exactly what Reamer gave them. A great central fireplace anchors the one and a half story 62-foot-long lobby, and that is flanked by two 56-foot wings. The style of the lodge has been variously described as rustic, Colonial, Northwest Georgian, and Norman. Also on the first floor are a 54 by 36 foot ballroom, dining room, sweet shop, kitchen, and pantry.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt came here on his 1937 fact-finding tour, eating dinner here with his entourage on Oct. 1. The bay-window alcove where the President sat is still the most requested table in the house.

* * * * *

Gazebo by the lake

That first afternoon, while the washing was being done, Bob and I walked down to see the world’s tallest Sitka spruce only a mile away from the lodge. We ate dinner at the Salmon Café. In the evening, we relaxed in that one-of-a-kind lobby. A father and son played chess with the lodge’s huge chess-pieces (each piece at least a foot high!). Over at the upright piano, a sing-along was taking place—one young man sang enthusiastically and loudly—off key. But no one seemed to mind. A fire was crackling in the great fireplace, and the lamplight cast a golden glow on everything.

Next morning, we awoke to drizzling rain. I showered in an old-timey tub with claw feet. Went after coffee so I could resurrect Connie. The breakfast was delicious. Then since it was raining—there was a rain gauge on the lakeside wall, measured in feet, not inches. The gauge indicated 15 feet in their highest year, 180 inches!—we decided to take the rain forest tour. Mike Turner (the facilities manager), seeing we needed a fireplace-fix in the interim, graciously had big logs brought in, and soon few walking by could resist walking over to the fireplace to bask in its warmth.

Our guide (Sandy) picked us up at 9:30. Sandy was one of those rare guides who are so passionate about what they do that they’re worth their weight in gold. It was the first time in our lives any of us had really experienced a rain forest first-hand. She led us on several misty walks into the ghostly old growth forest with moss and lichen bedecked trees, brooks, creeks, nursery-logs (when trees feed on fallen members), wildlife, etc. A winter wren sang to us. Sandy told us about the terrific 2007 storm with 90 – 130 mph winds, torrential rain, wholesale slaughter of trees—electricity was out in the region for two weeks. Then, a natural story-teller, she told us the fascinating story of the epic Press Expedition into the heart of the Olympics in 1888-9. An amazing story of endurance and near starvation.

Later, Bob and I took another short hike into another section of the rain forest. We spoke to three young women who’d volunteered to help build or repair forest trails for the Washington equivalent of FDR’s CCC.

Roosevelt Table in the Dining Room

But that evening, a dream came true for Bob: We got to eat dinner at the coveted Roosevelt Table. We could almost sense the presence there of the man who saved the Olympic Peninsula from being completely logged over. After relaxing by the fire, everyone but me retired. It was almost 11 p.m. when I popped into the room, only to discover that Connie wasn’t feeling well. “Would you please go get me some Vitamin C’s?” she asked. I corralled the night clerk helping out in the kitchen. She checked but could find no C’s. When I explained why I needed it, she paused, then said, “Though we don’t have any, chopped-up garlic will stop a cold in its tracks.” I thought, but did not say, Garlic period would stop an elephant in its tracks! At any rate, she said that if she couldn’t find any C’s, she’d bring me some chopped-up garlic, which Connie was to swallow whole, with water, otherwise. . . . Oh, I knew what “otherwise” was: I wouldn’t be able to get near Connie for a week! I told her what room I was in, and with fear and trembling told Connie what was coming. She was aghast: “Garlic? You must be out of your mind!” Sometime later, we heard voices in the hallway—someone was clearly not happy. So I peeped out. I’d given the poor woman the wrong room number! 105 instead of 107. At any rate, poor Connie swallowed the awful stuff. Next morning, Lucy said, “You won’t believe what happened in the middle of the night! Some lunatic knocked on our door, woke us up, and said she’d brought me my garlic!”

SPECIAL NOTE

Our next stop is Crescent Lake Lodge in Olympic National Park.

SOURCES

Barnes, Christine, Great National Park Lodges 2 (Portland, OR; Graphic Arts Books, 2008).

Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Random House, 2002).

The Most Scenic Drive in America (Pleasantville, New York: Reader’s Digest Association, Inc., 2009).

Oregon and Washington Tour Book (Heathrow, Florida, American Automobile Association, 2010).

Quinn, Ruth, Weaver of Dreams (Gardiner, MT: Leslie and Ruth Quinn, Publishers, 2004).

Scott, David L. and Kay W., The Complete Guide to the National Park Lodges (Guilford, CT: Globe Pequot Press, 1998, 2009).

White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2009).

PARADISE INN

            There were swarms of skiers getting ready to hit the slopes, to greet us as we walked down the steps of Timberline Lodge—one girl crying because her boots were too tight.  The view was so breathtaking we had to just stare, downloading it to our memory disks.  Then it was down the mountain.

            At Sandy, we stopped for breakfast at the Tollgate Inn Restaurant, well known for its old-timey appearance, great breakfasts, and (in its bakery), the best pecan sticky buns any of us could ever remember eating.  Connie almost cried when she gobbled up the last bite.  Then we moved on through the town of Boring.  I’d waited all my life to tell the story (affirmed to be true) of a certain Pastor Dull of a Boring church—how they’d finally had to move him.  Then it was back on boring (pardon the pun) I-5 again.

            Once past the bridge over the great Columbia River, we were in Washington at last.  None of us were very familiar with the state; in fact, that had been another reason for making the trip: Washington is so far north (like Maine in that respect) that you have to make a special effort to get there.  We could hardly wait to explore it more fully.

            Finally, we escaped I-5 and turned east on Hwy 12; turning north on hwy 7, and east again on hwy 706.  We stopped at the pioneer village of Longmire, famously homesteaded by James Longmire in 1887-8.  Longmire was one of the first to bring tourists up to Paradise Valley.  When his daughter-in-law first saw its king’s ransom worth of wildflowers (due to the 250 feet of rich volcanic soil), she exclaimed, “This must be what Paradise is like!”  It has been called “Paradise Valley” ever since.  John Muir later declared it to be “the most extravagantly beautiful of all the alpine gardens I ever beheld.”  It was also one of the favorite spots on earth for Stephen Tyng Mather, founding father of our national parks.  Mather first climbed Mt. Rainier in 1905; he returned in 1915 to oversee the first road into Paradise Valley (Duncan and Burns, 240).

Mount Rainier

            Ernest, the protagonist in Hawthorne’s “The Great Stone Face,” lived so long in the shadow of that great rock outcropping that his own face came to mirror it.  Just so, Washington’s highest mountain (14,441 feet); so vast that it makes its own weather, is so dominating that its image is indelibly etched into the subconsciousness of all those who live within sight of its great white mass shouldering its way into Washington’s sky, reminiscent of Mount Shasta’s dominance of northern California.  The sixth recorded person to climb it was John Muir (in 1888).  As Muir viewed the wholesale annihilation of Washington’s old growth forests by the voracious logging barons, he felt the Glory of the Northwest was certain to be ravaged as well.  He marshaled the forces of the newly formed Sierra Club, the National Geographic Society, and Northern Pacific Railroad tycoon Louis Hill.  It paid off: in 1893, President Benjamin Harrison made the mountain the centerpiece of the newly created Mount Rainier Forest Reserve; in 1897, Congress expanded it into the Mount Rainier Forest Reserve; in 1899, with President William McKinley’s backing, it became our fifth national park.

Paradise Inn

            But Mather wanted a hotel in Paradise Valley worthy of its mountain.  In 1916’s short summer season, that long-desired hotel was rushed into being.  Great Alaska cedar logs were hauled in from an 1885 burn-site.  The exterior was shingled with cedar. Two massive stone fireplaces anchor the 50 X 112 foot two-and-a-half-story great hall; later, a wrap-around second-story mezzanine would be added for structural support.  The 51 X 105 foot one-and-a-half-story dining hall is almost as grand as the great hall.   A fifty-foot stone fireplace fills its north wall.  The most enduring furniture was crafted by German-born Hans Fraenke, a local contractor; every year for seven years, found him the first to arrive in the spring and the last to leave in the fall.  He hand-crafted (with an adze) the furniture to last—and it has: such things as a 1,500 pound table made of Alaska cedar, two larger than life throne chairs, a fourteen-foot-high grandfather clock, a mailbox made out of a large stump, and perhaps the piece de résistance, a standard piano transformed into an impressive work of art.  Architect Laurian Huffman submits that it is this combination of soaring roof line and oversized furniture that makes you feel like one of the Seven Dwarfs entering Fantasyland because you become so small in relation to them. (Barnes, 56).

Hand-carved Grandfather Clock

            Barnes notes that, “Over the years, alterations and decorative painting have changed some of the details of the great hall, but it retains the grandeur of its early days.  Light streams in from the dormer windows high above the mezzanine, highlighting the repetitive structural framework with posts, beams and trusses that mark the architectural structure of the great hall.  Iron rings grip the cedar poles, added to reinforce the splitting timbers, and a system of cables and metal bracing helps support the building against the onslaught of heavy snow.  During the 1920s, additional cedar beams were added to create a permanent brace against the snow.  The snow!  It is one of the snowiest spots on earth: 640 inches the average (sometimes, up to 900 inches!).  It has been a constant war every year with Mother Nature to save the lodge from crushing levels of the white stuff.  Not coincidentally, units of the 10th Mountain Division in World War II were taught here how to survive winter combat.

THE REALITY

            A million people find their way into this valley every summer; many of them were in the parking lot; fortunately, we had lodge reservations, otherwise we would have had a tough time finding a parking space.  Even though it was almost July, the snow was so deep it was impossible to explore those famed fields of wild flowers still imprisoned in their seeds.  Many visitors sat on the outside deck, drinking in Mount Rainier to the north and the also snowcapped jagged Tatoosh Range to the south.

Custom Piano

            Inside, we entered an island in time.  Around us on chairs and couches were people from all over the world.  Just across from us was an intergenerational family I shamelessly watched: three adorable little girls who clearly had their doting grandfather totally under their little thumbs; their lovely young mother lovingly running fingers through her husband’s hair—a seraphic look of utter bliss on his face; the grandmother alternating between reading, looking fondly at her granddaughters, and staring at the crackling fire in the great stone fireplace on that end of the great hall.  Other tableaus could be found everywhere in the long room.  A pianist plunked away on the monster piano—almost always someone was either taking his picture or speaking to him—he played for hours (songs old and new), applause and baksheesh keeping him rooted to his chair.  Quite simply, it was America as it used to be.

            Later, in the dining room, we lucked out with a window table and stared up at the mountain.  Each waiter sported a badge identifying her/him by state or country of origin.  Later on, I’ll dedicate an entire blog to them—how they are rising above the recession to see and experience the world.  Dinner took a long time for no one—anywhere—was in a hurry to leave that enchanted room.

            Afterwards we listened to a ranger speaking about wildlife in the park, we ascended the stairs, found a table, played a game, and devoured the huckleberry pie and ice cream a dimple-cheeked beauty from Eastern Europe brought to us—she got plenty of exercise serving all of us on the four sides of the long mezzanine.

            The icing on the cake was a serendipity.  Hearing there would be a total eclipse of the moon that night, I took a long walk.  On the way back, perhaps the brightest golden moon I’ve ever seen gradually rose above the eastern hills—its radiance was almost unearthly!  Photographers were already bringing out their cameras to set up for the 2 a.m. eclipse.  I cravenly opted to return to the lodge and sleep instead.

SOURCES:

Barnes, Christine, Great Lodges of the National Park I (Bend, Oregon: W. W. West, Inc., 2002).  [Her entry for Paradise Inn is a must-read].

Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf/Random House, 2009. [There is much about Mt. Rainier in the book].

“Mount Rainier,” National Park Service brochure.

Scott, Dand L. and Kay W., The Complete Guide to the National Park Lodges (Guilford, CT: Globe Pequot Press, 1998, 2009).

“The Tahoma News,” May-June 2010.  National Park Service handout.

White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2009). [Features a most informative section on Mt. Rainier].

SPECIAL NOTE

            Next Wednesday, we move on to Stehekin and Lake Chelan.

CRATER LAKE LODGE, CRATER LAKE NATIONAL PARK

Finding a rental car with enough trunk room for four people—for a month—was no easy task. Finally, Budget came through with a Lincoln Town Car (the only full-size auto with enough trunk room).

In mid-June, Connie and I picked up Bob and Lucy Earp at the Portland Airport Hampton Inn. We collectively gulped as we looked at all their luggage (from Tennessee) and ours (from Colorado). How in the world would we ever get all that in? We did—but it wasn’t easy.

Finally, with Bob in front with me and Lucy in back with Connie, we looked at each other: would our friendship stand a month together in the same car? We bowed our heads and prayed that God would grant us His protection and blessing. Out of our battery of resource books, we read out loud the lead quotation in Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns’ National Park opus maximus:

One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made.
That this is still the morning of creation. That mountains, long conceived, are now being born, brought to light by the glaciers, channels traced for rivers, basins hollowed for lakes.

When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe. . . . The whole wilderness in unity and interrelation is alive and familiar… the very stones seem talkative, sympathetic, brotherly. . .

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in
and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike.

This natural beauty-hunger is made manifest . . . in our
magnificent National Parks—Nature’s sublime onderlands, the admiration and joy of the world.

—John Muir

With that inspirational preamble, we drove off. I-5 South was predictably boring; but things got more interesting after we veered off onto Highway 58 at Eugene. Keeping us company for some time was one of Zane Grey’s most beloved fishing rivers, the North Umpqua. It was late afternoon before we hit the snowline. By the time we nosed the car into the Crater Lake Lodge parking lot, it was clear we wouldn’t be able to drive around the crater—too much snow!

By now, the lodge was an old friend: Connie and I first came here in 1962; our son Greg did too, but didn’t see much, since he was still in the hopper. The last time we visited it there was so much snow we had to tunnel our way through. But this year had been a light winter.

It is America’s deepest lake (almost 2,000 feet deep), and one of the ten deepest in the world; its beginning rocked the West: 7,700 years ago, towering Mount Mazama erupted with 100 times the magnitude of Mt. St. Helens in 1980, blowing ash and pumice over what is today eight western states and three Canadian provinces. The resulting caldron (six miles across), over millennia, gradually began to fill with water from rain and snowmelt—no streams feed into it or drain it. Snow is heavy, averaging 44 feet a year, thus its summers are short. It has been documented as the clearest water in the world, with perhaps as deep a blue as exists on the planet.

THE LODGE OREGONIANS WOULDN’T LET DIE

Most of our national parks were blessed by single-minded visionaries obsessed with saving them for posterity; this proved true for Crater lake as well: in 1870, a fifteen-year-old Kansas boy, William Gladstone Steel, idly thumbing through newspaper sheets that had been used to wrap his lunch, chanced to see an article about a mysterious “sunken lake” in Oregon. Not only did he vow to see it some day, he kept his vow. Fifteen years later, in 1885, the now thirty-year-old man stood on the lake’s rim—awestruck. Right then and there, he made another vow; to spend the rest of his life on its behalf. No small thanks to him, in 1902, it became the nation’s sixth national park. Steel became park superintendent.

But Steel yearned for more than just national park status, he wanted several lodges of the stature of El Tovar, Ahwahnee, and Old Faithful to grace it. But that task proved to be a veritable labor of Sisyphus for a number of reasons, chiefly his failure to find wealthy backers and the short summer seasons. Finally, concluding that he’d just have to make do with what he had (the support of Portland entrepreneur Alfred L. Parkhurst, architect R. H. Hockenberry, and builder Frank Keyes), plans to construct a lodge of some 77 rooms were set in motion.

Sadly, however, so underfunded was the project that they were forced to cut corners—but it was either that, or nothing. One of those cost-cutting decisions resulted in their foregoing strong roof trusses. Predictably, the roof collapsed during the blizzards of 1913-14. But the lodge bravely opened its doors anyway, in its unfinished state, in 1915.

And the people came. The late teens and Roaring Twenties spawned an explosion of automobile travel, and Crater Lake Lodge became a popular destination—at least when snow melted early enough. But always it was a battle to keep it open. Ownership changed hands again and again. In 1959, plans were made for its razing—but somehow it survived until 1984 when the National Park Service recommended that it be demolished, and a new one constructed away from the rim. And they had reasons: “The truth was that the old lodge was a dump. The roof sagged, the bathrooms were spartan, light fixtures dangled from the ceiling, and the wind whipped through the walls”. . . . As time passed, “it would kind of move and creak and groan with the snow in the winter . . . so heavy that the roof was kind of flattening out the building and the walls were bowing.” (Barnes, 90).

But then the people of Oregon stepped in to save the beloved old derelict. In 1987, the Oregon legislature passed a resolution to save it. A state-wide campaign known as “Saving Crater Lake Lodge” was organized. But none of it arrested the deterioration. Finally, in 1989, with the central roof threatening to collapse, the lodge was ordered to close.

Then began a six-year effort to save it. It soon became evident that if it were to survive, it must be dismantled and rebuilt from the foundation up. In the ensuing process it was discovered that it didn’t even have a foundation; nor was there any solid infrastructure. $15,000,000 was spent in painstaking efforts to not only restore the lodge, but, more importantly, restore it to what it never had been: a lodge anchored by a solid foundation and a steel-beamed infrastructure. The great hall was rebuilt and the kitchen gutted, then replaced. Windows overlooking the lake were positioned so they would showcase the reason why people came here, and everything radiated out from the great hall and the fireplaces.

On May 20, 1995, Crater lake Lodge—against all odds—reopened. Barnes concluded her moving story with these words: “The essence of Crater lake Lodge lies in its memories. While the historic structure no longer bears the ragged signs of aging, the heart of the lodge remains the same. It is still a wonder of man perched on the edge of a wonder of nature.” (Barnes, 93).

* * * * *

We checked in. Our fourth floor dormer room was small, as are almost all old hotel rooms. Those who thronged early lodges spent little time in their rooms, but much time exploring the parks; in the evenings, they reveled in each other’s company in the great halls, listened to music, played board games, and dreamed by the great fireplaces.

At Crater Lake Lodge, time stood still. Here we met not only Oregonians but people from all over the nation and from around the world. Each had come to savor a long-loved artifact of a bygone world that had miraculously survived until the Year of our Lord 2010. Like us, they’d come here to escape a cacophonous modern world so devoid of serenity and peace.

As we ate our dinner by the window, we gazed out, entranced, at the breathtaking late afternoon diorama of changing colors. No one was in a hurry to leave the table. Afterwards, we walked outside again, then came back and played a board game by one of the fireplaces. Later, we crawled into our bed (small compared to our usual standards) and snuggled—we had to! During the night, the 95-year-old building talked to me. And I couldn’t help but wonder who else had slept in this same little room. What were their thoughts? One of my last thoughts had to do with gratitude: I’m so grateful this place is still here!

Next week, it’s on to Oregon Caves Chateau.

SOURCES:

Barnes, Christine, Great Lodges of the National parks, Vol. 2 (Portland, Oregon: Graphic Arts Books, 2008). These two books are must-reads for all who treasure our parks.
Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf/Random House, 2009).
White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2009).