One-by-one we traversed the narrow cut in the cliff, careful to lean to the right in case we slipped – the steep drop-off on our left plunged over a hundred feet to the valley floor. The sun had already set behind the western Cascades, painting the sky a burning red but leaving our trail in rapidly increasing darkness. That we were struggling to remain upright on our cross-country skis on even the slightest descent made each step even more nerve-racking. By the time we traversed the top of the cliff and returned to open terrain, there was no question of setting up camp immediately and starting on dinner in the dark. The experience was a far cry from the relaxed ski tour around Crater Lake that we had planned.

Looking back, it was plain to see how our problems had compounded themselves to this point. The original plan was to spend three days cross-country skiing the 33-mile loop around the rim of Crater Lake, which seemed an easy feat for our group – Josh and Tim were seasoned cross-country skiers, while Sarah and I were strong athletes with mountaineering experience. But after five-plus hour drives for us all to reach the lake, the permit process, and having to shuttle gear to the rim, we didn’t set out until after 4pm on our first day. With only four hours to sunset, we still planned on making at least eight miles moving quickly on our skis before dark.

A Difficult Journey

What we did not account for in all our combined experience was a complete lack of balance. Sarah and I struggled on our narrow cross-country skis, face-planting after picking up speed on even the most minor downhills – of which there were plenty, thanks to snowdrifts across the route. Our heavy packs made the matter worse. Every flail instantly gained momentum, and struggling back to our feet after a crash with the weighted pack on felt like a Herculean task.

Still, we were feeling excited about the journey and overly confident until we reached The Watchman. The peak buttresses the lake, standing nearly 1,000 feet above the rim road, and is the first obstacle along the rim road that presents a real danger to skiers. We had been warned by the ranger that the road was impassable on the far side where it cut into the mountain above the cliffs, and so we started the climb up and over the mountain. The climb was brutal, requiring kick-turning in our skis while holding ourselves up on our poles to avoid slipping. It took over an hour to reach the top – a negligible amount of distance covered relative to our 33-mile route – and once there we found ourselves staring at a steep wall of snow. Not only could I not imagine myself skiing down it in cross-country skis without falling dangerously, but the face also showed signs of recent avalanche activity.

After a lengthy debate pitting fatigue against safety, we decided to descend back to the road and try our luck with the “impassable” road cut. The descent was even worse than the climb. Sarah and I floundered in our narrow skis, unable to move more than a few feet without losing balance and expending tremendous energy to get back up. The experience was cold, frustrating, and, most of all, concerning – what if we hit similarly mountainous terrain halfway around the lake late the next day, when turning back was no longer an option?

Thankfully, the road cut proved uncomfortable, yet passable, and after setting camp we were all ready to pass out in our tents. Of course, the lake would not allow us to rest so quickly. After a day so still that reflections were visible in the lake, the wind began howling over the rim as soon as we climbed into our sleeping bags. Although the tents held, their violent shaking all night prevented any of us from sleeping. Even worse, we awoke in the morning in a cloud with snow coming down around us. Enthusiasm for continuing was so low that we lingered in camp late into the morning.

With the snow still falling and all of us exhausted from the previous evening’s unexpected difficulties, the question we had to answer was whether we were still attempting to make it around the lake. We had little information to go off of except warnings of a significant storm expected to roll in late on our third day and the knowledge that most of the elevation gain and loss was on the east side of the lake. The combination was especially worrying, since we would be beyond the turnaround point if we ran into more difficulty climbing and descending there like we had on The Watchman. More tortuously slow climbs and descents meant the possibility of taking longer to complete the loop and getting caught in the storm. Ultimately, we decided to split the group – Tim and I would continue on, covering as much ground as we could that day, while Josh and Sarah would turn back and meet us at the end of the loop the following morning.

Neither Tim nor I wanted to think about the sufferfest we had just signed on for. In continuing, we committed ourselves to covering almost 30 miles and most of the park’s elevation change in just a day and a half. Once we said our goodbyes, we began moving – and didn’t stop. We reached the north side of the lake by early afternoon and found ourselves in a sea of snowdrifts, each of which required climbing and descending in miniature. Oddly enough, the road was exposed in some places, revealing these drifts to be upwards of 20 feet high. Meanwhile, the beauty of snow-covered Crater Lake was a constant fixture to our right, and even taking brief moments to stop and enjoy it made the day’s effort worthwhile.

The real challenge came late in the afternoon when we reached the climb to Cloudcap, the highest point on the rim road. The climb was a long haul – 1,000 feet over 4 miles of road, and with the snow turned to slush in the afternoon sun the going was slow. It was clear that both Tim and I were flagging by this point, and the knowledge that we had to cover at least 5 miles beyond the Cloudcap summit was no comfort. Sluggishly, and with frequent stops, we made our way up. The relief was palpable when we reached the summit, both Tim and I celebrating the end of the most difficult part of the loop. Meanwhile, the views almost made up for our burning legs: Mount Scott towered above the road, while the view over the lake revealed the Phantom Ship sticking out above the lake’s icy surface.

From Cloudcap, we skied downhill through slushy snow all the way to our final checkpoint for the day. Leaving the rim road, which was covered in avalanche runout just ahead, we turned down the Pinnacles road and found a place to camp in the woods. The sun was just setting as we set up the tent and began heating water to rehydrate. Our water source was snow, and just heating enough of it for dinner and to refill our water bottles took over two hours of continuous re-filling of Tim’s Jetboil. As soon as that was done, we crashed into our sleeping bags and waited for the throbbing in our legs to recede.

A Journey Concludes...Eventually

When my alarm went off in the dark early the next morning, I felt so tired that it took me a moment to remember where we were – and then I groaned with the realization that we still had ten miles to ski. Our boots had frozen solid in the night, so Tim and I made quick work of breaking camp and headed back onto the road in an effort to keep our feet warm. With the sun ahead of us, the first two miles was blissful: downhill, on frozen snow, our skis gliding effortlessly. We laughed with a pang of regret, realizing that we could have camped at Cloudcap the previous night and glided all the way downhill to this point rather than fighting our way down through late-afternoon slush.

Of course, we had to pay for that downhill glide. The next five miles, still part of our detour around the avalanche zones on the rim road, was reminiscent of the climb to Cloudcap. It seemed never-ending, made worse by the fact that the scales underneath my skis struggled to find grip on the frozen snow. Unlike the Cloudcap struggle, however, reaching the top of this hill and returning to the rim road meant we had only an hour left in our journey.

The rim road seemed luxurious relative to the route we had just taken since, this close to the visitor center, it was filled with the tracks of day-skiers. Several of them stopped to ask us about our trip and congratulate us on the feat, which was another boost to our feeling of victory after the past two days. Best of all, with just half a mile to go we found Josh headed towards us on the trail to guide us in. With legs nearing collapse, we had completed our journey around Crater Lake.

Need to Know

Information

Free backcountry permits are required, available at the ranger station next to the visitor center below the rim. Route finding and avalanche safety skills may be necessary. Detours around avalanche-prone areas are marked on the park maps.

Best Time to Go

The rim road is covered in snow by the end of November in most years, but typically March-early June offer a better chance at clear weather. The lake is often not visible on stormy days. The eastern portion of the rim road is usually skiable until early July.

Getting There

Only the park’s south entrance, off Highway 62, is open from November-June. There is no overnight parking at the rim. We hitched a ride from the visitor center to the rim.

Maps and Books

Trails Illustrated Crater Lake National Park map. Maps of avalanche detour routes are available at the ranger station. More information regarding the trails of the park throughout the seasons can be found in the Trails of Crater Lake National Park & Oregon Caves National Monument guidebook. For more general mapping and getting to and from trailheads the Oregon Benchmark Atlas can be useful.

Editor's Note: This article by contributor Michael Graw originally appeared in Issue 34 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.