our main camp, called Mazama. Ten miles from Crater Lake, it adjoined the Annie Creek Canyon and nature trail. Glaciers had gouged it out, pyroclastic flows and fumaroles had sprouted grotesque spires. Now it was a wildlife sanctuary, named in honor of Annie Gaines, the first white woman to visit the area. For dinner Chimpie prepared his infamous burritos, between slugs of vodka. We yakked. Sharing our boating experience. Dark settled in. As the enamel orange coffee pot kept warm on the grate, sparks shot upward. I stoked the fire. Tribal peoples for Four of five voyagers, at the rim. countless millenia before the Ice Age have gathered in tight- knit circles allowing fire to ignite imaginations. Wafting aromatic wood smoke is both an irritant and an intoxicant. Janey started it off, demanding “stories.” She put pressure first on David and then on me. He elaborated upon my prospector themes, as Chimpie and Jan chimed in facetious questions! Spontaneously, I spoke of the lost Blue Wash Basin mine. Snaggle- .tooth Jackson trying to bushwhack Jim Browning at Spoof Creek. Convincingly, David told of a poor Yugoslav family who visited Crater Lake to obtain its magical water in clay pots. The .monster in the lake was very angry. He had black eyes, a huge mouth with red teeth. He almost grabbed one of the sons, but the father jammed a broken pot down the monster's'' throat. After begging to have the pot extracted, he gave them the healing elixir. When they reached shore, dad turned to look at son. The boy glared back with coal- black eyes and red teeth! Don't ask me why? Chills ran up and down our spines. I appreciated Janey’s enthusiasm for our mythmaking! She was a good sport. . . and unashamedly showed us her tatoo—a multicolored cornucopia extending S h e unashamedly showed us her tatoo— a multi- colored cornucopia extending outward from the pubic regions. A Campfire Girl wouldn’t do something ho rny like that, would she? outward from the pubic regions. A Campfire Girl wouldn’t do something horny like that, would she? Escape From Crater Lake hat about Powers’ hero? 1dare not reveal the secrets of his adventure. He used his wits and one good idea from Ben Franklin to pull him through. I’m hoping the book will soon be republished for all of us to share. (See list of Northwest classics!) Alfred Powers died at 96, after a long and successful life. Although he identified his major work with Oregon, I feel certain Powers would have embraced the concept of a regional literature. One which would encompass the Pacific slope—from British Columbia to Northern California. The entire region was called the Oregon Territory at one time and he chose to be buried at Lyle, Washington, iij the Balch Cemetery near Frederic Homer Balch who wrote The Bridge of the Gods. The titles of Powers’ 18 books are chiseled into granite on his gravestone. Having experienced the magic of his special place, we drove northward to seek solace for our bones, aching from several nights on hard ground. When we parked the car at Cougar Reservoir, we were eager for a good hot soak in a paradisical situation. I’ve been to a number of hot springs— Bagby, Breitenbush, Austin—Cougar Hot Springs on Ryder Creek was no less idyllic, except for the burned-out people. In the small green canyon, logs tumbled across it, four pools of descending temperature gracefully stairstep downward. Naked children played in the lower one, mothers nursed babies. Toward the top, near the origins of the hot springs, a hollowed out log trickled cold water. Adjacent was a small cave with green mud. Beside it, nicely carved on a flat stone was a cougar’s face. A naked longhair totally coated in green mud darted me schizophrenic looks and stayed in one spot muttering. He told' David, “I wish Icould dig back into the earth and find the source of this green mud! It’s really good for your skin.” A woman recognized him and bummed a cigarette. The center of attention was a calm fat man drinking 16- oz. cans of Old English ale. A 25-year-old woman, staggering like a zombie, stark naked, stumbled toward me up the path as I was leaving. A wicked scar zigzagged down her leg. The esthetics were getting to me. Human beings are making a mess of the natural world—right here in the Pacific Northwest. What would the transcenden- talist Henry David Thoreau do if he were alive today? Chain himself to a Forest Service gate? Handcuff himself to an energy drilling rig? Sabotage 20-mile-long drift nets strip-mining the fisheries of the Pacific? He’s the one who warned us: “InWildness is the Preservation of the World.” Early in the summer, friends and I walked into Opal Creek to witness old- growth Douglas firs which calmly and nobly stand in the shadow of loggers’ chainsaws. A hiker said there was a grove of Western red cedars, 700-years-old, threatened beyond the creek. Our society in Western America is less than 200-years-old and showing bpd signs of wear. Consumerist societies all over the world are gobbling irreplaceable resources higgledy-piggledy, Holland’s Books Used and Rare Reasonable Prices 11 -6 , Monday - Saturday 527 SID 12th, Portland (503 )224 -4242 GROOVY GIFTIES VISIT BOTH O f OUR STORES 616 SOUTHWEST PARK * ( 5 0 3 ) 2 7 4 - 1 7 4 1 • CLACKAMAS PROMENADE * ( 5 0 3 ) 6 5 3 - 2 6 3 0 * PO R T LA N D , O REGON Clinton St. Dec. ’89-Jan. ’90 Celebrating their 25th year of sharing traditional Irish music in this special Christmas Show. “Especially Impressive ”-N. Y. Times Thurs. December 7,8:00 p.m. ARLENE SCHNITZER CONCERT HALL r .<W Bl'.AVKRTON•GRESHAM.GATEWAY P A A A r n t /K K f t r m iu im -UIHIM n UAW ----- --------------“ ________E.SALEM -MILLPLUS 2 2 4 - 8 4 9 9 HAZELMIX | Tickets also available at PCPA box office 248-4496 For information: 274-1422
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