It is 4:00 p.m., but with the amount of darkness and ash descending it might as well be 9:00 p.m. In a moment of irony, it is not lost on us that we are standing on a volcano that has at one point mimicked these very same apocalyptic signs.

July 25–26, 2024

Typical of California summers, smoke from a wildfire hangs in the distant air. We have our eyes glued to the horizon the entire drive down to Lassen Volcanic National Park, optimistic that the smoke is beyond the park. Unfortunately, the sinking feeling in our gut turns out to be true—a smokey haze lays over the park like a blanket as we pull into Manzanita Lake on the northern side of Lassen Volcanic. Visibility is horrendous. All ridge lines and Lassen Peak itself are hidden behind a thick layer of gray haze. But with the park operating as normal, we are hopeful for a change in the wind. So we continue onward to North Summit Lake Campground, our home for the next two nights.

Everything smells of smoke as we set up camp in the late afternoon. Once we feel settled, we drive the park highway to its summit at 8,500 feet for the hope of poking above the smoke. But alas, still no visibility. At this point, we are resigned to the fact that this evening’s sunset will not make an appearance. Shifting plans, we brainstorm contingencies if visibility remains low for the duration of our stay. With not much to do at this time, we bed down for the night ambivalent about the next day.

The wakeup call comes early at 5:00 a.m. Groggy from the stress the day before, we peer outside and take inventory. A bright moon and several stars greet us in the pre-dawn light—a good sign for the day. It seems a fresh wind has shifted the haze. Energized by the lack of smoke, we jump in the car and head upland to Terrace Lake Trailhead. The mountain is still and quiet. A black bear shuffles across the road as we make our way to Paradise Meadows to capture some alpenglow on Lassen Peak. We feel like the only ones in a sea of wilderness. The morning light is bright and clear with mere wisps of lingering smoke—night and day difference from yesterday.

From here we head to Helen Lake and Bumpass Hell. The trail to Bumpass Hell skirts along a terraced ridge offering beautiful views of Brokeoff Mountain. Clearly the first ones on the trail we bask in the solitude and serenity of the morning. Our hearts are at ease in the clear day. About a mile down the trail we round a corner to find a stunning scene unfolding before us. The loud hiss and sputter of steam vents can be heard as a sweeping valley of geothermal activity lays before us. Eager to get closer we race down the trail toward the iconic Bumpass Hell boardwalk. The familiar stench of sulfur deposits fills the air as the morning sun illuminates columns of steam two or three stories tall. The entire valley transports us to a time of prehistoric beauty and power.

Soon, we notice a thin haze beginning to accumulate in the sky—nothing like yesterday, but still not a friendly sight. Soaking up every free moment of sunshine and fresh air, we race over to King’s Creek Falls, a series of cascades gradually dropping 700 feet culminating in a showstopping 30-foot waterfall. It’s hard to imagine the morning we are given considering the previous evening’s prospects. If only it would stay this way.

The afternoon begins to look worse. It begins with the sky growing heavy with haze. Then the sun casts an eerie orange hue on the land. Then bits of ash fall like snow. We head back to our campsite to wait out the shifting atmosphere hopeful it’ll blow over like the day before. Anxiety rises when we see our camp host has packed up and left among other campers from the night before. Not a good omen. We are the only tent in the campsite. In a manner of thirty minutes, visibility drops dramatically. It is 4:00 p.m., but with the amount of darkness and ash descending it might as well be 9:00 p.m. In a moment of irony, it is not lost on us that we are standing on a volcano that has at one point mimicked these very same apocalyptic signs. Full of regret, but devoid of doubts, we instinctively dig out our headlamps and begin breaking down camp. It’s time to leave the park.

Later that evening we learn Lassen Volcanic Park Highway is closed to the public, open only as an evacuation route from the nearby Park Fire in Chico, California. Furthermore, all recreation in the park is also prohibited due to extreme fire danger. It might not be the trip we planned, but we are thankful for safety and fresh air. As we exit the park we take a minute to reflect on all we experienced—the alpenglow on Lassen Peak, the sleepy bear sighting, the steam vents of Bumpass Hell, the mighty roar of King’s Creek Falls—just a taste of what Lassen Volcanic National Park has to offer, naturally, leaving us hungry to one day return for more.