View From Lassen Mountain

Climbing a volcanic mountain was not on our itinerary that summer of 1988. But we were intrigued by the sign pointing to Lassen Mountain as we drove south in northern California and decided to follow it. When we’d driven as far as the road would take us and saw that it was only a 2-mile hike to the very top, we couldn’t resist. Quickly changing into hiking clothes in hot little porta toilets, we grabbed water bottles and a bag of banana chips and began the climb.
It was a hot August afternoon. But soon we realized it would only be hot on the sunny side of the mountain. The trail wound back and forth. On the shadowed side of the slopes snow still iced the trail and a cold wind ripped through our scanty summer clothing. We were struck with how barren the mountain was, how different from our Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia and North Carolina. No fir trees, no laurel or rhododendron. Occasionally we saw one little pink flower growing in a rocky crevice. There were a few scrubby, stunted knee-high bushes and a very scarce windblown conifer hardly taller than we were. Other than those there were only rocks and more rugged rocks by the rough pathway.
We stopped to catch our breath and drink some water. A tiny striped pica popped up on a rock at my elbow, the first live creature we’d seen. We offered him banana chips and he eagerly ate them and sat waiting for more.
When we arrived at the top we looked with awe over the edge of the crater far down into hardened lava depths. A sign assured us the mountain had not erupted since 1914 and that it was an oozing type of eruption, not sudden and violent. All the same, after taking pictures, we quickly began our hike back down. We’d met only one other hiking group as we came up and now we were totally alone on the trail. Clouds had formed and the icy side of the trail was colder than ever.
We stopped to sit on a rock and watch the storm brew in the distance. Another pica came along for chips. Far in the distance lightning zigzagged to the earth. It was so far away we couldn’t even hear the thunder. In only a minute fire broke out where the lightning had struck. As we watched, mesmerized, a plane flew over the fire dropping fire deterrent. This happened more than once within our wide vision of mountains and plain, our view unimpeded by foliage. We went into competitive mode to see who could capture a picture of a lightning streak. Charles won and we still have his picture. We watched from our mountain perch as weather patterns formed and dispersed, as firefighters flew over. Lightning never struck near us. We never felt a drop of rain.
When we slid back into the safety of our old Buick we knew we’d never be quite the same again. We had viewed a strange mountain up close and taken in miles of landscape and unbelievable weather activity, tremendous examples of God’s power and man’s attempt to protect the forests.
We have a picture of Charles with one foot propped on the edge of the volcanic crater. We have pictures of the pica and that one little brave flower. And we have that picture of a streak of lightning like a brilliant snake cracking a steel gray sky.
It was an adventure we love to talk about. Recently we’ve become even more aware of God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence as we face medical challenges. I think of Lassen Mountain from which we could see so far and watch tragedy overcome by rescuers. As we give our burdens to the Lord and wonder sometimes why He seems not to answer, I realize He can see the whole picture of our lives, of our world, from ancient days to distant future. I rest in the promise that He sees “the whole view” and knows what is best for us.
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