Crater Lake

In August of 1994, we went to see the spectacular Crater Lake in Oregon. The trip became memorable for another unexpected, spectacular reason…

I finished up my lab work on a Friday evening, drove to our small Pennsylvania town airport (4 doors for gates in a big room) and flew to O’Hare. Where S joined me from his work and we took a flight to Portland. All through employee standby travel. For 3, 4 years this was almost a routine on some weekends for us, with different destinations.

We reached Crater Lake late on the next day. First we set up camp - it was our first camping trip in the great American outdoors! The next day we went to the lake. The bluest of blue, clearest of clear, caldera lake nestled in the rugged volcanic mountains. From any angle it was a feast for the eyes. A wonder in its sheer existence. Sacred for the native Klamath Indians.

I don’t remember if we hiked down to the lake, maybe we did. We boated in the waters. Ash got into everything and came back with us.

But first, very excitedly, we found our spot in the tree rustic camp site and set up our cozy looking tent. It was easy. We spread out the camping cookery items we had bought for the trip on the table. Only, we didn’t have anything to cook with. We forgot about that. So it required a trip to the small camp store. We also bought 2 packs of firewood. What is a camp without a campfire?

Dusk approached. We didn’t realize how fast. Soon, I was cooking in the dark. S was with his favorite activity – the making and maintaining a camp fire. The cute camp lantern we bought the weekend before and with which I walked around in the apartment feeling like a pioneer was dwarfed by the blanket of darkness. I could not see anything that was a few inches away from the lantern!

The cooking failed. The rice wouldn’t cook. The water wouldn’t boil. The veggies wouldn’t saute. I remembered ruefully the tables full of food that neighboring camps had and cleaned up before sunset. One lesson learnt. At least, the fire roared. Until it got very big and one arm came out and burnt S’s eyelash tips.  He was sitting too close, tending the fire. All this didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. Just like the long drive from Portland (which was rather scary close to Crater Lake).

*** 

Maybe some of it was the goodwill karma we felt we were owed (not that karma really works like that). On the long road in the wide open skies from the friendly Portland, we saw a boy, of about 9 years, standing on the shoulder with a handwritten sign Out of Gas. An adult was with a beat-up truck a little ahead. We passed them, and after talking about it we took an exit, a turn into the right direction and parked on the shoulder. They were out of gas. We found the nearest gas station, bought a portable container and brought them gas. They were so grateful, speaking more through their shy country demeanor. I believe we still have the red fuel-safe container somewhere in our garage.

Oh you have to be careful with the dinner remains and how you dispose of the water, one lady said to us at the common taps, with concerned gravity. We must have given her a blank look so she explained- if grizzly bears smell the food they will come to the camp at night.

Grizzly bears will come at night- these words began to sink into me in the darkness. So after we carefully disposed of everything in a bear-safe way, I went back to the tent a little subdued. S took care of the dish washing in the ice cold water.

*** 

So we really didn’t know anything about camping in the wilderness. Going to national parks or camping was not something we grew up with or what our friends did. But it was something that interested us. The internet was there but there was no information in it, like now. The lady was nice, she could have been rude. I’m not sure if the times were like that, people were nicer then, anyway she was nice to us because we didn’t know and also, we were young.

Night settled in. We watched the fire till it died down and settled for sleep. By then all the other camps became quiet. Very soon we realized something was wrong. It was very cold. Extremely cold. We had no idea it could get this cold on a summer night in the mountains here. We had only one sleeping bag, a sheet and two small camp pillows for both of us. No jackets or coats even. We did not doubt not having a warm night.

It was awful. Body shivering, bone chilling cold. Outside, it was so dark; we could not even see our hands. We stumbled to the car, turned it on and with it, the heat. Such sweet comfort it was. Sleep came. Then S said maybe it is not a good idea to stay in one place with the car running so he drove slowly (it hadn’t occurred to us that we might be disturbing the peace). No one complained though.

We left the camp site, drove around, parked here and there and caught bits of sleep. If we turned off the car, the miserable cold rapidly seeped in. Ours was the only car on the road, the car lights were the only lights. We were the only moving creatures on the face of the earth. When we stopped, we turned the lights off, with the engine running for the heat.

One such spot was on a hill top, it was a clearing of some sort, where there was no tree cover. By chance I looked up and… and… was astonished to my core. The Milky Way.

In the moonless, cloudless sky, the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon in full splendor. Dazzling, glittering, still and… just there.  

I had only heard of the Milky Way. I had never imagined the magnificence. We both were shocked. We stood outside, heads turned up, forgetting the cold.

It was one of those things where you lose yourself in something. The whole middle of the black sky was lit up. Parts of the arm were dense star-clouds. Each of the countless stars was twinkling. I could have reached out and touched a star.

It was so spectacular, we felt insignificant as ourselves. It was so spectacular, we felt significant because we were a part of it. And to imagine that this sight, this perspective was a given thing in lives of our ancestors, until electricity. Surely without daily darkness we are missing something.

I could have stayed there all night. But I began to imagine grizzly bears behind the starlit distant trees. They will come at night. I got back to the safety of the car despite all entreaties of S. 

*****  

Kaput Anyway!

Reading Time ~5 minutes. 
Two galaxies on collision course, as if in a cosmic exclamation point was caught by Chandra X-ray telescope and the image was published by NASA in August.

Galactic Collision: A Cosmic Exclamation Point!

3-5 billion years from now our own Milky Way will merge with our neighboring galaxy, the Andromeda.  Which brings me to my exclamation point.  How will it appear to us, on Earth?  To us, on Earth, a planet hitched to a medium sized star which in turn is earnestly burning away on an arm of the Milky Way?

Will the Andromeda come at us with the spiral face-on or sideways? Wait.  Did you say 3-5 billion years?  Close finish that will be, since the Sun has a remaining life of ~5 billion years.  Oh wait again.  Isn't the Earth supposed to become too hot for life in ~1 billion years?  Darn.  So we will not be around.  On Earth at least.  We may be still around as specimens of a species, if we figured a way  and traveled to other places to live.  Either way, forget about lying in the yard in a reclining chair, sipping Merlot and watching the night sky with a spiral galaxy slowly moving towards you.

I saw the Andromeda galaxy once.  It was a few years ago.  The Foothill College in Los Altos has an observatory. It is open for public viewing on late Friday evenings. I was in a waning phase of an obsession with astronomy, so guess what?  We spent our Friday evenings waiting in a line.

Cold, wintry conditions give the clearest skies for sky watching. The colder the better. However it is not the best time for waiting in line.  A long line too, from the central room of the observatory to the bottom of the winding stairs to the open outside. Filled with huddled frames of people, arms tucked in,  lightly bouncing up and down, heel to toe, toe to heel, trying to keep warm.  Sometimes, actually at rare times, there is no line and we can even make requests of the volunteer in attendance.  If still in a good mood at that hour, he may just oblige and turn the telescope around to focus on our object of desire.  He then punches the name on a keyboard, the computer program looks up the co-ordinates and bingo! the telescope moves, weee weee weee, along with the sliding roof, giving just the right level of opening.  

All I had to do was to look through the eye piece when my turn came. There it was, the Andromeda, slightly to the side, a small, neat spiral, just like our home galaxy.  Very nice, seeing the heavens.  But the magnificence of the epiphany was so effortless, it was difficult to hold on to. 

****

Not too long before then, the husbn bought me a telescope.  We were then in Chicago and the night sky of the city only allowed for moon viewing. After settling down in a new job and California, one day, I thought the skies were clear enough to try some viewing.  I opened the box and set the telescope up in one corner of the balcony.  A brownish-orange object in the sky seemed a perfect target.  It was in a portion of the sky which was clear of the surrounding pine tree branches. After sending some good vibes in that direction, I trained the telescope with eyepiece1 on it.  I was quickly able to put the object within range but it was a blur.  Next level eyepiece.  Blur again.  It didn't matter how I messed around with the focus.  Whaa.  Will I ever see anything?

Then came the last eyepiece, of highest magnification.  I lost the object.  Could not locate it.  The range was very sensitive.  Back to eyepiece2.  Okay, move the co-ordinates so the blurred object is at the center.  Change to eyepiece3 veeery gently.  Don't bump into tripod.  Easy, slow.  Gone again.  More iterations.

I wasn't giving up.   I kept searching, slower than a snail.  Bam.  Something at the edge.   A blurry, faint light.  I brought it to the center and focused.  Back and forth until I hit the right focus.  I could not believe my eyes.  A planet with all the tell-tale markings, and four moons.   Jupiter!

I walked away and came back.  It was Jupiter alright, exactly like in the images.  Except that only four of the moons were visible with the telescope I had.  I kept looking at it every now and then.  I was home alone.  The moment was mine.

With a little practice, finding and focusing became easy.  Next day I saw Jupiter again.  One moon was missing.  Ayyo!  Only three were visible.  Oh okay, it went behind.  I was in awe.  Saturn with its rings was easy too and just as beautiful.

****
Working even to the extent I did to find the object, the surprise element and the beauty of a different world made the experience  somewhat similar to what some others may have and call as a religious experience.  Reading a good poem, unique art, unusual scenery, unexpected grace of a person or a musical piece can evoke too, if they come at the right time and mood.  The consciousness perhaps shifts imperceptibly after the sensation hits different areas of our mind.  From where, the world and our view of it can seem slightly peaceable than before.  How much of this stays with us is subjective to our general inclinations and the nature of the impression.
For me, even now, seeing Jupiter in the sky brings up a smile. We have a shared secret, you see.

Sometimes some visiting children have asked for a viewing if they spot my telescope all set-up (it is back in the box now).  I usually ask what they want to see, set everything up and all a child had to do is look through the eyepiece.  Because of my own viewing at Foothill, I do not expect an aha moment.  But I never fail to see some bewilderment on what do with this very accessible yet extraordinary vision.

*****

Note 1. The NASA's picture of the Cosmic Exclamation Point is the face of the new Facebook page of this blog! A galactic collision is inconsistent and incomplete, isn't it?

Note 2.  Silent movie time: A simulation of the Milky way and Andromeda Collision by the University of Toronto: 

*****