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On the island. May Malone 2nd from leftA few months ago I typed Hezekiah Malone into Google and what should pop up but his entire name: Hezekiah Pennington Malone. Someone, obviously a relative, had done a family history. Her name was Dorothy Malone Hamilton and her father was named Hezekiah Pennington Malone!

In 1944, Dorothy, a young girl at the time, went with her father to Ohio to meet his mother, who was 82. She had been married to William Malone, who died at age 48. Dorothy’s father had been only 10 years old when his father, William, had died. Dorothy’s grandmother was Josephine Malone whose last name had been Quinby.

After her marriage, Dorothy and her husband began doing some research and first went to Wilmington, Ohio where they stopped at the Historical Society. To their surprise the Historical Society had a file folder about the Malones. In this folder were newspaper articles, as well as letter written by a professor at Malone College. (This is the first I’ve ever heard about a Malone College). Her brother and his wife accompanied them. Her brother’s name is also Hezekiah Pennington Malone.

Her brother called the professor and soon they met him to continue the discussion.
My Hezekiah P. Malone was also the great-grandfather of Dorothy and her brother.

The Quaker farmers were John Carl and Mary Ann Pennington Malone. She said they had nine children, not eight, and named them: Hezekiah, Alice, Charles, Levi, Frances, Edwin, James, John and William. Her story pretty much matches my mother’s. Dorothy and her family were shocked to learn that the Malones were active in Dunedin, Florida because they live only a short distance from there.Camp Adamless Eden

When they got home they went to the Dunedin Historical Society and discovered a lot more information about the family. While my mother’s story was that Hezekiah was the first Commodore of the Yacht Club, Dorothy said it was Levi. Who knows? I don’t even know what a Yacht Club Commodore does!

Dorothy said the Historical Society has information about the family, the homes they owned, the activities they were involved in. She said two of the houses still remain. I think I have photos from my mother’s album of two houses there.

There is an island in Clearwater Bay called Malone Island. Apparently Levi Malone owned half of the island and they built shelters and had social gatherings there. I’m thinking this might be the island where my grandmother and her young women friends camped. I have photos taken there—cooking over a campfire, gathered in the shade of large tents. And they called their hideaway Camp Adamless Eden!

Dorothy said the family had a reunion in Dunedin in 2002 and she has met many cousins she didn’t know she had. Her grandfather and her great-grandmother (Emma Hart Malone)—mine as well– are buried in Dunedin.

A small picnic at Sharrer's. H.P. Malone, Mr. Sharrer & others

How to dress for a picnic on the island.

An addition to Dorothy’s article says that in 2013 and oak tree in the Dunedin Cemetery was dedicated to Hezekiah Pennington Malone I by Hezekiah Pennington Malone II.

Now I’m trying to contact the Dunedin Historical Society to see whether they have an address for Dorothy or are interested in copies of the photos. What an amazing trip this has been!

Courage (part of the Hezekiah story)

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I think that with all the current chaos and need for courage these times require, that it is an appropriate time to share a family story. My mother wrote this and I’m passing it on, just as she wrote it. The story shows how one person, long ago, made a difference. I can’t vouch for it’s truth.

Hezekiah’s parents (Hezekiah Malone being my great grandfather), as I have mentioned previously, were devout Quaker farmers in Ohio, raising eight children. My great-grandmother had been a Pennington. But on with the story.

“During the Civil War great-grandmother Malone is supposed to have had a tangle with the Southern guerrilla, Morgan and his Raiders. She and her daughter were along on the farm but when Morgan and his men swarmed thorough the place and beat on the door she faced them coolly enough. Morgan demanded food and stamped into the house, unshaven, travel-stained, his hat still on. Great-grandmother Malone said severely, “Wouldn’t thee take off thy hat in thy mother’s house?” and abashed, he did. –a look from him and so did the rest. “If thee’s hungry, I’ll give thee a meal,” she said, “but thee must wash first,” and she sent them outside to wash at the back door. Like good little boys they went, meekly, and she fed them. They might, as they did to so many others, have looted the farm of all the animals and produce, but they didn’t. They thanked her and rode away. “

Hezekiah continued

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H.P. Malone & granddaughter Mary Whitfield.-1911JPG

My mother on the lap of her grandfather, Hezekiah P. Malone 1910 or 1911

All the brothers apparently became quite successful. As my mother put it “stout, satisfied-looking business men. They looked like illustrations of the times—America booming, expanding, and they right along with it.” In 1925 she remembered visiting Walter Malone’s family in Dunedin, Florida (where many had summer homes) and said “all had the same apple-cheeked, fresh complexion he had.”

Louis, the youngest, was the problem child. “At various times Hezekiah sent one and then another brother to Mexico to manage the mines so each gained experience and knowledge and could make intelligent decisions from then on.” Hezekiah, being practical, had gone along with the custom at the time of paying off Mexican officials and handing out gifts when necessary. Louis refused and “imposed various restrictions and prohibitions and special taxes.” So the Mexicans confiscated one of the mines. This became known in the family as “Louis’s Million Dollar Mistake”.

My grandmother grew up in Cleveland but also lived in Montpelier, Indiana and in southern Ohio. In CMay Malone, my grandmother--Martha Washington outfit, Bradford Pa.leveland Hezekiah “built her a big playhouse with a real little stove, pots and pans and dishes and she had a Martha Washington costume, complete with cap, to wear in it to serve tea to her younger sister, her mother, or any visitors.” Her brother was quite a bit older than she was and her sister (Bess) three years younger.

She loved horses and always had her own. She rode bicycles and she and her sister were the scandal of Cleveland when they rode—in public!–in the first bloomers seen in the town. Grandmother had them made in New York of heavy velvet—yards and yards of material.”

Hezekiah “had trotting horses, which he raced all over the country. He had one of the first automobiles in Cleveland. The whole family traveled a great deal.”

Hezekiah and his brothers liked Dunedin, Florida and built several houses there. “They started the Dunedin Yacht Club and grandfather was the first commodore. They went to spend The Windward, Mom's boatwinters for many years and each person had his—or her—own sailboat, which he or she sailed around the bay and across to the island, and down the coastline.” My great-grandmother’s boat was the Albatross and my grandmother’s the Windward.

Apparently Hezekiah had respect for women’s intelligence and my grandmother and her sister were allowed to travel alone. He was a 32nd degree Mason and he had Masonic rings made for the girls so that if they ever needed help they could get help from a Mason.

I have no idea what happened to all that wealth in the intervening years but I’m glad my mother was able to write down her memories of the family history. to be continued


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Hezekiah Malone in the CatskillsWhen she was young, my mother took the family Bible to school to share and somehow lost it. I think she felt guilty about this for the rest of her life. I felt a little bit like this when I realized that the photo album I’d placed her old family photos in had damaged some of them. It was one of those albums with a sticky backing and some of the stickiness bled through into some of the pictures. This fall I purchased a new album, with no stickiness. I paid a friend to copy and improve any of the pictures that he could and have placed them in the album, along with those he was unable to change. During this process I looked up one name on the Internet, just to be sure I was spelling it correctly. This was Hezekiah Pennington Malone, my great-grandfather.

My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was a Malone. I guess that Irish side is where my mother got her beautiful hair, dark brown, curling, with lots of red highlights.

In writing about family history my mother said that the Malones (her great- grandparents) were Quakers but originally the family came from North Ireland to the United States, settling first in Pennsylvania. Her great-grandmother had been a Pennington.

They were farmers and believed in hard work and “solid worth”. The women wore grays and blacks and dove colors but their clothes were of the best materials available—“woolens and heavy, durable silks”.

Her great-grandfather established a farm in Ohio. He and his wife were actually cousins. They had seven sons and one daughter. My great-grandfather, Hezekiah, was the eldest son. As with many farm children in those days, none wanted to work as hard as they had to on the property. When Hezekiah was 17 he ran away from home. Eventually he was able to make some money by taking part in some business opportunities (salt-bed oil wells, in Pennsylvania) and, as soon as he could afford it, he began to send for his brothers and to set them up in business. Nothing is said about what happened to the one sister.

Mr. & Mrs. H. P. Malone in Dunedin, FloridaHezekiah Malone married Emma Hart, who was not a Quaker, but became one when she married. “She was the daughter of the treasurer of the City of Cleveland” and her family at that time was “well-to-do”. My mother described Emma Hart as having a 17- inch waist and said that “she wore a hoop skirt, bodice with real lace, carried a little purse decorated with real lace. She wore shoes that were size one, high ones that laced up the sides, also white. “ This was on her wedding day from what I understand. Emma Hart was only 17 when Hezekiah decided she was the one for him. The information was somehow passed down through the family.

Here my mother mentions that Emma Hart’s father, a miller, was a direct descendent of John Hart, who signed the Declaration of Independence and states that “there were silver smiths some place in the family”. During the Civil War he ran n underground railway in his home for escaping slaves.” (My grandmother never told my grandfather about that. This is interesting to me because I didn’t know which of her parents had thought that owning slaves had been acceptable although I knew one had.).

Hezekiah Malone “made money and built a mansion right next door to the Harts”, and my mother’s two uncles, her mother and an aunt were born there in Cleveland. to be continued


Broken Crystal

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beautiful-streetWhen I was growing up at Castle Crags I used to enjoy walking the park roads after a big storm to see how high the streams were, listen to them roar, and see whether they were muddy, enjoying the power of nature.

ok-photoToday, following our two days of icy rain, I was anxious to do the same, to see the damage but to also appreciate the beauty. I could see some from our house but wanted to walk. The first thing I needed to do, though, was take my car to get the oil changed, tires rotated and balanced, etc. It was overdue. My husband had de-iced my car so the door would open and had warmed it up so the windshield was no longer covered with ice. It takes about 20 minutes to get to thetrees-on-sidewalk-glare shop but even though the sun was shining the trip didn’t melt any more ice. Two different people at the dealership spoke to me, with big smiles, about how they liked the ice on my car, particularly the icicles hanging from the mirrors and other edges. Obviously the temperatures were pretty cold this morning.

When I got back home I put on a down jacket and took my usual neighborhood walk, being carefufreshly-broken-treel to walk on the street when heavily laden trees seemed to bend too far over the sidewalks. Under the trees small chunks of melting ices clattered down. It was like walking through a world of crystal. Sunlight sparkled and glittered from grass, shrubs and trees. Now, at 3:30 in the afternoon, the Asian pear tree in our neighbor’s yard still glistens.

broken-treeThis beauty was a stark contrast to the evidence of damage from the weight of the ice. In many places it looks as if bombs have been dropped damaging, not the houses, but just the foliage.
Tree after tree has broken, with branches and trunks hanging over fences or blocking sidewalks. In some cases, a tree in one yard has fallen into their neighbor’s yard. When I was walking along one street three tree-company trucks, pulling trailers, drove the other direction.

icy-treesWe were so lucky to not lose power. Our lines are underground but power lines leading into town are above ground and many people have been without electricity for several days. All it
takes is for a tree in a wooded neighborhood to fall on the lines. One friend, who lives on a more rural edge of town, posted that the temperature in their house this morning was 39-degrees and they were going to a motel for abig-broken-tree couple of days, until their electricity is on again.

Oh, Deer

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Ranger families could not have dogs when we were growing up in California State Parks. We had one during the Second World War but the ruling must have come after that. At the time, we had an Irish Water Spaniel. She had nine pheidi-the-fawn0001uppies and we kept one. When we moved, we left the mother, Curly Locks, so that she could have a life as a hunting dog, for which she was trained before she ended up with us. Unfortunately, our little puppy ate some some salmon, got sick, and died before we moved from the coast to the mountains. So, no pets for us.

When we lived at Castle Crags we got lucky. A doe with a very young fawn was killed by a car and the Department of Fish and Game said we could raise the baby because we lived in the park. She was very young and needed to be bottle fed. My younger brother and I did most of the care although our mother probably started out with it. We named her Heidi. What an adorable animal! Wheidi-the-fawne had a leash for her and she loved taking walks with us. When we stopped for her to rest she would suck on our ear lobes! We kept her away from other people so she would not adapt to them, and might have a chance at being a wild deer when she grew up.

Heidi loved to be with us but we had to have her tied up part of the day; we couldn’t be with her conguy-the-fawnstantly. One day, when I was going to ride with my mother to the post office, I moved He
idi to a shaded spot by the little creek and tied her leash to a branch. Back at the house, ready to leave, I could see that the willow branches, which had been waving around from her efforts to follow, had stopped moving. I went down to do one last check on her and watched the light fading from her eyes as she died. Her collar was just a belt and the fastener had come loose as she leaped. She had choked to death.

We were devastated. This was a first loss of a much-loved pet. It took a long time for my brother and I to recuperate.

A few years later (1955) we ended up with another fawn, this one a little buck. His mother, too, had been hit by a car and died. He was so tiny our mother fed him with a straw, holding her thumb on one end to keep the milk in and then releasing it into his mouth. She did this oguy-the-fawn0002ff and on through a number of nights. When he got to where he could use a bottle my brother and I took care of him. He graduated from bottle to a bowl with a rubber glove in it so he could suck on our fingers as he ate. Pablum was added as he grew. This time our dad bought a little harness that went around his middle so there was no chance of another accident. He did wiggle out once though and, in the process, slit one ear about an inch. Our parents attached a large wool sock to the harness to make it tighter. When he got older and ran with other young deer we could recognize him from the split ear. This one we called Dear-deer and then, eventually, Guy. He was much more independent than the little doe had been, and not as affectionate. But he was a lovable handful.

As he grew, we stopped tying him up at night and he would join other deer but always came wheguy-the-fawn0001n we called if he knew food might be waiting. He was definitely a success story, gaining his independence and finding others with whom to roam. The last time we saw him he had a spike antler on each side. Guy ran up to my brother and reared up, striking out with his front feet as if to play. That showed us it was time to end the relationship. But what a wonderful experience! Every time we saw deer in the meadow or out in the woods we’d try to see whether one of them had a split ear.

Poetry Reading

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100_5770Yesterday afternoon I went to a poetry reading, in the Veneta area- west of Eugene, that was sponsored by Groundwaters Publishing http://groundwaterspublishing.com.

For 10 years Groundwaters published a quarterly literary magazine but now puts all the effort into a yearly edition, and this reading was a celebration of their 2nd Annual Issue. Their tagline is “Bubbling up in our own good time”.

The reading site was a Grange Hall/performing arts center at a former elementary school site. The little auditorium was perfect for this event and I’m sure everyone appreciated the tiers of seats that allowed all to see. And the use of a microphone is always appreciated. I didn’t read this year but enjoyed just listening to others.

Works are contributed by amateurs and professionals and include fiction, non-fiction, essays, poetry, artwork and photographs.

I have five pieces in this year’s publications, several poems and a short essay. The following is one of my poems.

Oxford Dictionary

Lest we lose our sense of belonging to
and coming from the land,
let us keep the words that name
what we love—the forests,
the meadows and streams,
the flowers and birds,
the echoes and sunbeams.

Let us drink deeply from snowbroth,
restore vigor to our jargogled brains,
and camp in a heather-filled mountain glade
To recuperate from a long hike.
let us prepare dinner at twitter-light
and plan tomorrow’s climb up the arête.

Afterwards, I want to go spangin’ along the trails,
collecting forgotten words.

Last Day at Crater Lake

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My view early in the day.

We got up at 6:00 a.m. and had hot cereal for breakfast. Tom gave me a ride to park headquarters where I ended up being the only passenger on a bus heading up the hill to the North Junction, with a quick drive-by at Rim Village in case there were others there needing a ride.


Bike corral and parking along road.

My driver told me he drives trolleys at Crater Lake during the summer but, now that school has started, he drives school buses in the Klamath area. I asked him whether he had discipline problems with kids and he told me how he handles those possibilities. These days school buses have cameras that help with that. And it sounds as if bus-driver attitude is important too.

There were already people biking the road between park headquarters and the North Junction. It was cold, no sunlight yet, and there was a mile-and-a-half of gravel road. No shoulders on this highway so bikers had to squeeze into just a few inches of pavement when the bus went by. My driver was saying, out loud, “Move over, move over, move over!”


Bicycle built for four.

From the time I got to the station until noon I didn’t sit down. I was the only member of Friends of Crater Lake at our station. The others were with Discover Klamath, associated with the Chamber of Commerce. They were in charge of registration and various issues. There was no charge to participate but they wanted to keep track of how many people rode, where they were from, etc. I did refilling of Clif Bars and Goo, oranges and bananas. Also helped with giving people tickets to put bikes in the valet corral. One ticket they kept and one got stuck onto their bike. This allowed us to make sure no one took the wrong bike. Some put their bikes there while they went to find parking. Some took the bus back down to park headquarters where they’d left their vehicle and then drove up to get their bike. I don’t know how many boxes of Clif products I opened but it was hard on my fingers!


Riding in style!

It was really cold at first, although most of the snow had melted—I had four or five layers on. When the sun finally hit our spot I peeled them off: jacket, down vest, etc. I was glad I’d brought sun screen because I’d left my sun hat in the trailer and, although my knit cap kept my head warm in the early hours, it didn’t do a lot as a sun shelter. We had a beautiful, warm day. Such a contrast to the day before when we drove through rain and fog.


People taking dangerous chances.

This was an enjoyable job though. It was nice to see so many smiling faces. It was during this time I came to see how many of the riders belong to biking groups and bike often. That’s why they were in such good biking shape (versus my sporadic rides). A group from Sacramento goes to 5,000 feet fairly often to ride. There were all kinds of bikes, some quite expensive. And they varied from a unicycle (not sure how this person managed the hills!) to a bicycle built for four.

By mid-afternoon we were out of water and Clif bars and left with just oranges and bananas, which soon became just bananas. Finally more water arrived around 4:00 p.m. At one point a park ranger car, with red lights and siren, drove past us and up the road. Someone had fallen from his bike, broken his clavicle and gotten a lot of road scrapes. An ambulance was called. There was no way of communicating (this will be resolved next year) but 911 still worked from cell phones. Another person fell in the gravel area but we had disinfectant and band-aids which his traveling companion applied.

I took the 6:00 p.m. bus down, again the only rider, a different driver. Again there were bikes on this nine-mile stretch of road that had remained open to automobile traffic. Tom was waiting for me at the park headquarters aid station. I dropped off my Friends of Crater Lake vest at the ranger office. The couple volunteering there, the Woodleys, turned out to be related to the Goodyear family from Weaverville so we briefly talked about who we knew in common. I told them I was Facebook friends with Jan. Funny how you can be someplace and find these unexpected connections.


Wizard Island from near my post.

Tom got a late start riding but had gone from headquarters in the opposite direction. He rode past Vidae Falls and up to where he could see Crater Lake’s Phantom Ship, a craggy island with a ship-like shape. It’s about 500 by 200 feet in size and rises about 170 feet above the water. He said he needed to adjust his handlebars but enjoyed his ride.

When we got back to our campsite we discovered the refrigerator and the heater weren’t working. There wasn’t enough power from the trailer battery. It was cold and dark and we were tired and hungry. Tom hooked the trailer power to the car and ran the it for awhile so we had lights. We still had propane, of course, but it took power to start the heater to run on propane. I heated up soup (again thank goodness for having made that big pot of soup at home) and I put most of the food that was in the refrigerator outside in the bear-proof cabinet. Any leftover meat I put in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. It was cold enough in the trailer so that might not have been necessary! Once again we were thankful for the big down comforter.

In the morning we stopped at the Mazama Resort restaurant for a good breakfast before we headed for home. One last treat awaited us though. On the way out, as we drove past the Crater Lake junction on the north side, a large bear ran across the road.

Crater Lake, Part 6-Mazama Campground

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View from the car as we got close to the Rim.

Friday, we checked out of Diamond Lake RV and headed for Crater Lake with the goal of reaching Mazama Village Campground on the south side of the park (214 tent and RV sites, no hookups for RVs). When I worked at the park in the early 1960s this was just a campground. Now there is a lodge and a restaurant.

It was raining and chilly. Just past the check-in station at the north entrance the windshield wiper on my side broke and it flopped around like an injured bird. Uh-oh… There was no immediate place to turn off so Tom shut the wipers down. After a mile or so we came to a turnout and pulled off the road. He got out, removed the wiper blade and pulled the support out so that it wouldn’t scratch the windshield. For the rest of our trip I rode with what appeared to be a giant insect antenna in front of me. We were really glad it wasn’t snowing.

When we got to the Rim we could see snow, some still on the trees. We slowed down and, putting our window down, talked to a young man who had a bicycle on top of his car. He didn’t know about the Rim closure for the next day but said he’d planned to ride his bike so thought he’d probably join the riders and seemed pleased to know there would be water and things to eat. He was traveling around the U.S. and Crater Lake was a place he wanted to visit. We inched into a line of cars waiting for a pilot car at the construction site. I had my trac-phone out, just watching the No Service at the top when suddenly it said Home so quickly texted a brief message to my youngest son so that someone in the family would know we were still alive. We’d had no contact since leaving Eugene. There was no time to wait for a response as the traffic began moving again. The fog was dense everywhere. Anyone driving up for a view of the lake would have been really disappointed.

At Mazama we found a pull-through site that was nice and within reasonable walking distance of a restroom—no showers although apparently there are showers to be had someplace in the campground. Everything was dripping wet though and the table had puddles on it. We were so glad we weren’t in a tent! Fir needles stuck to the bottoms of our shoes and tracked inside but there wasn’t anything to be done about it.

I fixed instant mac & cheese for dinner, draining the pasta by resting the colander on top of the bear-proof container outside. Tom cut up some of the canned ham to add to it. Not bad! I also used the last of the lettuce, some tomato and some avocado for a salad. After dinner I washed the dishes in one of our big, red, plastic containers on the very wet table. We shared a faucet across the road with numerous tent campers. The propane worked for the heater, much to my relief. And the lights worked from the trailer battery.

I made lunches for both of us before fixing dinner so we’d be ready to go early in the morning. Saturday I’d be helping staff an aid booth and Tom would be doing some riding.

Crater Lake, Part 5

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view-fromm-restaurant-breakfastWednesday: VERY cold last night and this morning. We drove up the road to Diamond Lake Lodge for breakfast. This building has been there since the 1920s and has grown since then. It is not at all fancy but serves its purpose. Has rooms upstairs and a dining area downstairs. The resort also has cabins and motel units. The dining room has a nice view of the marina area and pictures from the past on one wall. We had a table by the window and could look at the marina and the lake. We saw a number of gray Jays going from tree to tree. It was nice to be waited on and not going in and out of the trailer to get water for coffee and cereal. We talked to a man outside who was working on the road construction at Crater Lake and he said it was snowing up there. I’d noticed snow stuck to the running board of the truck that he was driving and asked where he’d been where there was snow.

When we got back I washed last night’s dinner dishes outside on the wooden table, which was now bathed by warm sunlight. I took a shower and washed my hair when it was overcast. I’d forgotten to bring a blow dryer and stuck my head under the hand dryer for a while, which worked pretty well! Just as I came out the door to walk to our trailer the hail began. Then we had hail and rain showers for a couple of hours.

Tom decided to do the laundry. I gave him a magazine to read but he came back between the washing and the drying. He had soap in the trailer from our Idaho trip so just needed quarters, which we also had on hand.

He talked asnow-on-mt-baileybout wanting to bike again tomorrow but I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Thursday we were ready to go for a short bike ride but it started raining again. Rained all last night and it’s cold. We went to the lodge gain for breakfast. We waited another 15 minutes after getting ready and to see whether it would clear off. It didn’t. Not good for us to be cooped up together in small space! When the clouds lifted a little we could see snow on Mt. Bailey across the lake.

After dinner Tom suggested we go for a short hike so we bundled up and walked down the trail from near our site. It comes out on the road just across from a rather ramshackle looking pizza place. We crossed the highway onto the bike path. It was dusk but we could still see the lake and Tom spotted ducks cruising around. They had a lot of white on them and were diving ducks but we weren’t sure what kind. I took a couple of pictures. It was cloudy but the setting sun brought a metallic sheen to the lake’s surface as it reflected from behind tevening-walk-2he clouds.

We took a short loop from the main trail past a restroom that had lights on and right nearby was a small tent. It must have been freezing in the tent. I told Tom if it were me I’d put my sleeping bag in the restroom where it was warmer although I guess the lights might be a problem.

We walked a little further and then cut back to the highway and walked back until we came to the pizza place. I’d thought to slip my small LED flashlight into my pocket before we left the traileevening-walkr although it had been quite light at the time. It came in handy when traffic approached. We went into the pizza parlor and were pleasantly surprised by how nice it was inside—appeared to be newly remodeled with rustic boards and beams. They also had ice cream and beer. We didn’t order anything but looked at a menu to get an idea of prices for future reference and stayed long enough to warm up, then crossed the highway and made our way up the trail, with the aid of the flashlight, to our camp.

Friday we’d be returning to Crater Lake and wondered whether the Ride the Rim would be cancelled due to snow.