We are heading back to finish our self-guided tour of Lassen Volcanic National Park, which last time was interrupted by darkness. Today we get an earlier start. It's only 78 degrees.
There were 855 lightening strikes last night at Hat Creek, where we were supposed to have stayed. I don't know how they count the lightening strikes.
I break down and spend the money on a new digital battery for my Canon G2 camera. Now all I need is a lens hood for both the Canon and the Fuji to prevent sun wash-out. At least I won't run out of power just when I come to the best photo-op of the day any more.
Bob has decided to experiment with a longer mustache and no beard. He has shaved most of his beard off, and left only the movie-star scruffy stuff. I finally get to see his chin after all these years. He is also letting his hair grow long. I'm excited. By the time we get home, if he doesn't chicken out, it should be great.
We climb the Cinder Cone, two steps forward, one step back. It is literally a mountain of volcanic ash. My walking stick helps, like a third leg to anchor me, but I'm very slow. Bob lopes ahead. The view of the lava blobs and painted dunes is spectacular from the top. On the way back at dusk, we are the only ones in the woods. It is absolutely silent save for the swish-swish of our feet in the ashes.
I fantasize about what we would do if we encountered a bear. We would make a lot of noise by popping our water bottles and I will beat him off with my walking stick. HA! Take that!
The road back is unfolding before us, reflections appearing one by one as though they are being unrolled from a huge reel. They are so golden and bounce our bright lights back so well we feel we are on an airport runway and we are the plane.
On the road back we see the flames from several small fires in the pitch black, and the road is very smoky.
When I was thirteen and babysitting my three sibs while my parents went out to dinner, the house on the hill just above us caught fire. I was afraid the fire would jump the woods between us and set our house on fire.
A year later when I was at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin, the building that held the library with many sacred books caught fire. We campers had a double bucket brigade shuttling water from the lake in one direction and bringing the books out of the library in the other direction. We did this for at least a half hour until the fire department from Eagle River could come put the fire out. Ever since then, fires have freaked me out.
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