Clark's nutcracker
Recently, I and my comrade Emily paid a
visit to Scoria Cone. On the southern end of Crater Lake
National Park, nestled in the old growth forest, Scoria Cone, like
the rest of the Cascade mountains, was formed by volcanic heat and
violence. Now, it is the land of perpetual snow. No trails or signs
lead to Scoria Cone. To get there, one must venture into the conifer
forest, with only map and compass as guide. (We didn't bring a GPS.)
We walked for an hour or so on the
Pumice Flats trail, and the heat of exercise countered the cool of the fall morning. We walked until there was a clearing in the pines and firs,
enough of an overlook to see the mountain peaks behind. Using the
area maps, we determined that the tall one was Scoria Cone. We took
a compass bearing and followed it. First we went downhill,
surrounded by lodgepole pines, which quickly obscured the broader
view of the landscape. We followed our compasses, past a place where
the lodgepole pines had bent over under snow, to look more like
“arch pines”, or like monks bowing in a prayer circle. We walked
on.
Away from highway 62, the forest was
quiet, save the occasional croak from a Raven, or the
yank-yank-yank
of a nuthatch (which sounds like a truck backing up, as I learned
from a wise birder.) We kicked up dust as we walked, for the ground
was dry. Barely any rain had graced the landscape in months, but the
hardy pines and firs stayed evergreen, like their namesake. From
time to time, a shy chipmunk ran across our path and disappeared
again. I'll admit to a slight nervousness, being away from the
safety of the trail. Would I find the way back? Would I be lost in
the woods, and have to put some wilderness survival techniques to
work? I recalled
Survivorman's cool attitude, and tried to imitate.
Our walk took us back upwards, towards
the peak which we believed to be Scoria Cone. As the landscape came
back into view—including in the distance, familiar landmarks like
Llao rock and Mount Scott. This put my mind at ease. Crater Lake
National Park has become to me a sort of home to me, and these
landmarks give a sense of security, like the arch for residents St
Louis, or the space needle for Seattle-ites. We walked past a
healthy pile of bear scat, whose author had feasted upon berries and
plants. We walked to the top of Scoria Cone. Just below, a bushy
Ponderosa Pine stood proud and defiant, growing from out of the dark
red rocks. Emily examined the map and determined locale of the
crater, and the “snowcone”. We walked around the Ponderosa and
down below it. And then we saw the pit, like an inverted cone. In
the middle of the pit, snow.
Slowly, carefully, we edged down the
steep walls. Near the end, I had to slide a bit on the seat of my
pants, similar to the maneuver of the first white man to touch the
water of Crater Lake. For the final stretch, a log acted as walkway
between crater walls and snow, with one problem. The log was
occupied by a yellow jacket nest. We edged past the log, and jumped
onto the snow. A thick layer of snow. Below our feet the snow went
on for tens of feet or more. Emily wondered how much snow must pile
in the crater in the winter, for so much snow to remain now. It was
chunky, icy snow, the kind that would draw blood if you fell into it
at the end of a sled run. A
Clark's nutcracker visited us on the
snow. The bird pecked at the snow, and flew off. By my best
observation and estimation, the bird ate chunks of snow as a source
of water. A wise technique in a dry forest. Constantly, in fact,
birds flew into and out of the cone. Nutcrackers and nuthatches and
gray jays and stellar jays came along. Wasps and yellow jackets
buzzed around us, so I made no sudden moves. We took some photos,
and climbed out of the crater, free from stings, and with only the
slightest of scrapes from the sojourn into the unknown. We followed
our compasses back to the trail, where Emily set out for her new
destination: Stuart Falls. I stayed along until the next grand view of the landscape,
then was ready to turn around, having had a long and vigorous hike,
and having met my goal of reaching Scoria Cone.
In her hike to Stuart Falls, Emily
encountered a small bear. The beast ran in terror, climbed a tree,
and howled and mewled like a dying puppy. I was envious and
regretted having missed the bear. But I was prompted to fashion a
bear with my oil-pastels. To join the mammal, I included another
icon of western national parks—the
whitebark pine. This high
altitude tree is symbiotic with the Clark's nutcracker, who both eats
and distributes their seeds. A nutcracker's thanksgiving would
include volumes of whitebark pine nuts, some flavorful insects, and,
evidently, a bowl of icy snow.
Clark's nutcracker photo by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, public domain; Ross descent photo by © Emily Prud'homme
