The Crater Lake Monster now has a name!

For millennia, tales have been told about monsters lurking under the surface of Oregon's famed Crater Lake. The indigenous peoples who made their home near the lake had stories of such a beast, as did the early settlers of the region.

Such legends are not just in the past, however. A frightening modern-day sighting was reported by Mattie Hatcher of Albany, Georgia, who said she saw a long dragon-like creature swim under their rowboat on Crater Lake when she was a child.

Until now, however, this legendary but elusive Crater Lake resident hasn't had a proper name, and this just seemed... well, undignified! Nessie of Scotland's Loch Ness has a name, after all, as does the sea serpent Caddy, who makes appearances up and down the Pacific Coast of North America.

We decided this was a wrong that must be righted, so we held a naming contest, and… we have a winner!!

Magma, short for Magmasaurus, with Maggie as a wonderful, cheery nickname for the monster, was submitted by John Maunder of Sevenoaks, England. The contest judges unanimously choose this as the appropriate moniker for the mysterious denizen of Crater Lake, and since the lake was formed by a massive volcanic explosion, I have to agree!

As John lives across the pond in England, he has kindly offered to donate his prize of dinner and bowling to a worthy family in the area.

Congratulations to John, and many thanks to all who submitted name entries. Each one was massively creative and a winner in its own right!

Thanks must also be given to KWRO radio's Hooked on Oregon for announcing the contest on the air, and to the show's crew - Cam Parry, Mark Mattechek, Rick Osborne, Jeff Galusha, and Sandy Messerle - who combed through the many worthy entries to find the winner. We also offer thanks to North Bend Lanes for their generous donation of a prize.

I stepped into the screened enclosure not knowing what to expect. Flowering plants were everywhere – all colors – and the fluttering of the orange wings of monarch butterflies filled the space around me. It was warm on this late summer morning, not yet at the day’s peak of heat, and it was a perfect moment, a feast for both my eyes and heart.

I’ve always had an affinity for monarchs. Perhaps that’s because they were commonly seen in my home state of California while I was growing up. Sadly, for my granddaughter and others, the joy of seeing a monarch in flight or poised delicately on a flower is a rarer event than it used to be.

When I was a kid in coastal Northern California, a “butterfly tree” graced a fern-filled hollow in our small town. It was secret and special, something my friends and I happened upon by chance one day.

In the heart of a small eucalyptus forest, this particular tree was a seasonal destination for monarch butterflies, and their presence turned its gray-green leaves to orange in late fall. It was where every fifth generation of these migrating creatures came to roost for the winter. They beautifully decorated the tree for months, covering it completely, hanging in silent diapause until early spring when they’d become active again to breed.

With this in mind, you can imagine how delightful it was for me to experience the many dozens of monarchs flitting about when I stepped into the protected butterfly pavilion at the Elkton Community Education Center in rural Oregon.

Amazingly, Elkton, a town of just 180 residents, has developed and sustains a valuable resource not only for their community, but for any who pass through on their way to and from the Oregon Coast.

The Elkton Community Education Center (or the ECEC, as it’s called there) has been in existence for 25 years, with a cluster of buildings that house a butterfly research room, a seasonal café, a community library, an office, and a gift shop.

The butterfly pavilion sits just behind the research room, and down the hill in a meadow near the Umpqua River is a replica of Fort Umpqua, once the southernmost fur trading outpost for the Hudson Bay Company.

In addition, a native plant nursery provides flora (such as rhododendrons) for purchase, and a shaded path meanders through a garden of local native plants. And, finally, as if all that weren’t enough, a small amphitheater provides a space for outdoor events.

The ECEC was the brainchild of Carol Beckley, a 97-year-old retired teacher from one of Elkton’s pioneering families. Beckley’s goal was to create a place for native plant education and propagation, as well as to provide summer employment for Elkton’s teens. Both causes are near and dear to Beckley’s heart, and both have been achieved through the Center.

Beckley's involvement is not just part of a past legacy. I was told that she still comes to the center to, among other things, pull weeds.

With 43 acres of donated land from Beckley and the support of a community, the ECEC was born. The butterfly pavilion and breeding center were established later (13 years ago, to be specific) as a way to attract visitors.

I was there that morning to meet Barbara Slot, a retired wildlife biologist and long-time volunteer for the ECEC’s butterfly breeding program. When I arrived, she was deftly plucking butterflies from plants to tag and release. After placing a small, numbered circle on a wing, the butterfly was released into the air outside the pavilion with a dramatic upward fling of Slot’s hand. If all goes well, they'll release more than 700 butterflies this season, a record for the Center. The previous release record was 550.

Both monarch and painted lady butterflies are bred and released there; however, because I arrived late in the season, it was mostly monarchs in the flight room, as the pavilion is called. Painted lady butterflies begin to emerge in May, with monarchs a bit later.

Eggs for the painted lady butterflies are ordered and delivered through the mail; however, there are rules that prevent such transactions with monarch eggs for the protection of the species. Instead, milkweed is planted near the pavilion to attract the egg-laying butterflies. Once laid, the eggs are collected and brought to the butterfly research room to await the appearance of caterpillars.

Since milkweed is the only plant on which monarchs lay eggs (and on which the caterpillars feed), planting it in public spaces and home gardens is crucial for the continued presence of the species. Much of the decline of the monarch population is due to loss of this habitat.

Slot later took me into the research room, where rows of clear plastic cups, each housing a monarch caterpillar, stood on a series of shelves. Once a chrysalis is formed, it's taken to the pavilion to await the emergence of a butterfly.

It was my first time seeing a monarch chrysalis, and I was awestruck by the jade-like appearance. They were like pieces of jewelry, complete with occasional spots of what looked like gold. Magically, the chrysalis turns a translucent black as the butterfly develops. At this stage, the monarch's signature black, orange, and white patterned wings can be seen.

I learned so many things on this visit, including how to differentiate between male and female monarchs (it's all about the spots on their wings) and that when a caterpillar is ready to become a chrysalis, its body, which is attached (typically) to a leaf, becomes J-shaped. The caterpillar body is then discarded and the chrysalis emerges. (We missed by seconds the drop of one caterpillar's body because we were looking in the other direction.) I'm grateful for the time the very knowledgeable Barbara Slot spent with me.

The ECEC, which is located on Scenic Byway 38 (which is a beautiful drive along the Umpqua River) is open year-round; however, butterflies are only available for viewing in the flight room from June through September. Since the butterfly population varies from year to year, it's best to call the Center to check on their status before heading out there. They can be reached at (541) 584-2692.

For more information on the butterfly program or to find out about activities and events at the Center, visit their website at https://ElktonButterflies.com.

Orange and black wings
Flutter now in elegance
My heart gently sings

Could there be a Crater Lake monster? If you ask Mattie Hatcher of Albany, Georgia, she'd say yes.

Like any good landmark, Crater Lake has its legends. There are stories of monsters and Wizard Island fire spirits told by indigenous peoples, as well as by early settlers. In 2002, the Fort Meyers (Florida) News-Star newspaper relayed a modern tale, one of a Georgia woman who claims to have seen a monster in the lake as a child. I would imagine that the experience makes her shudder even now.

As told by Mattie Hatcher of Albany, Georgia, she was out on the lake with friends when something swam underneath their rowboat, which she described as "a block long." She said her friends saw it, too, and that it gave them all a good fright.

"I have never been so scared in my life," she said. "What we saw that day was a monster. To me, it looked like a dragon. I know why the Indians call that place Lost Lake. They say monsters live in it. I believe them. I know, because I saw one there."

Reported sightings of cryptid creatures like Big Foot, the sea serpent Caddy, or Nessie in Scotland are hard to prove. They do occur, though, and probably more often than we realize. If there is a monster in Crater Lake, don't you think it deserves a name?

Here's where you come in. You can give the monster a name by leaving a suggestion in the comments below, emailing me at Adventure@NorthwestObsessed.net, or messaging me through the Northwest Obsessed Facebook page. We're counting on you!

If you need inspiration, you may be able to find it by reading my post about Crater Lake here: Glorious Crater Lake - Northwest Obsessed Blog.

Aside from bragging rights, there's a prize for suggesting the name that's chosen - dinner and bowling for two at North Bend Lanes in North Bend, Oregon. (Don't let the locale fool you - dinner there is seriously good, and with a wonderful wine list!) For those out of the area, we'll think of something to reward your creativity.

The morning sun, softened by haze, gently illuminated the rows of tulips that swept grandly to the horizon. Bands of color met my eye - bright reds, sunny yellows, soft pinks, rich purples, and more - a tapestry of rainbow flora larger than I could have imagined.

I was at the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm in Oregon's Willamette Valley with new friends, my gracious host, writer Sue Kuenzi, and her mother, Joan, an impressive 80-year-old woman who I had just met that morning. I had heard about this lovely Oregon feature a few years back and was eager to experience it. It was wonderfully serendipitous that I was in the northern part of the state in April, when the tulips were at their best.

I was astounded by the sheer variety of them, not just by the plethora of color (endless shades, it seemed), but by the shape and texture and patterns of the petals. Some had subtle blended tones, and others had stripes or ruffles or fringy edges.

Dozens upon dozens of buckets were filled with bright cut tulips for sale, and other types of geophytes made appearances here and there. In other words, the "blissfulness of bulbs" was present everywhere! And, speaking of bulbs, visitors can order them during the festival for fall planting.

Hours passed like minutes as we wandered the rows, sometimes together, and sometimes on our own. There was just so much to see! One could get lost in the details of one flower (and another and another) and at the same time be overwhelmed in the best of ways by the sheer scope of the plantings.

The whole place had a festive feel, with carnival-style rides for the kids, hot air balloons, much laughter, and people chattering in different languages. It was clear that this is a well-known tourist destination. There were a few rows of vendors, and food was available.

On a clear day, Mt. Hood is visible to the east across the fields, a beautiful and benevolent guardian. The haze prevented a good view of the mountain when we were there, but a quick online image search for Mt. Hood with tulips brings up an array of stunning photos, the best of which, in my opinion, are the sunrise shots.

Because of frost and temperature, each year is a bit different, but the tulips generally bloom sometime between March and May. The farm sets the dates for its "Tulip Fest" based on the predicted bloom, a shifting window dictated by the conditions of the season. The 2024 festival was held from March 22 through April 28. Visitors are welcome to the farm to view tulips during the festival.

Tickets are only available through the website, and we had purchased ours the night before. To ensure an optimum time for photos, we chose a morning entry, but it turns out that was a good choice for another reason. It gave us time to roam the bright rows before the crowds set in. The farm is expansive, though, and even as more people arrived, there was plenty of space to wander freely.

In addition to tulip viewing, the farm offers other festival activities. Among them are wine tours and lessons on making wooden shoes. Their website, www.woodenshoe.com, gives info on bloom status as festival season grows closer. If you're there after the bloom, there are limited summer activities noted on their website, including farm tours and access to the gift shop.

Hello, friends! The Pacific Northwest is full of stories waiting to be told, and I'm on the trail seeking the very best ones! What would you like to see featured here? It could be a bucket list spot or a little-known place… a person, event, or organization that makes the Pacific Northwest wonderful… a quirky story about Big Foot, a local legend or a piece of historical trivia… an interesting geological anomaly… anything that you think would make a fabulous story that highlights what's special about this unparalleled area! I look forward to your ideas, which you may add in the comment section. It's a beautiful world… so stay adventurous!

Highway 101 curves ahead, shiny with recent rain, a wet silver snake that slithers through forest and along roadside cliffs, leading me from my home in Northern California to my Oregon destination. The weather shifts once again. Rain, snow, and brilliant sun have presented themselves in an ever-changing and unpredictable dance as I make my way north. My goal today is to travel as far as Gold Beach.

The road is my new normal after tragedy struck last year. My husband of 35 years slipped from this life after a pancreatic cancer diagnosis. It left me empty, shocked, and emotionally devastated, but from the ashes of my grief a phoenix rose, one that rekindled adventure in my soul. So, I press forward, curious, longing to share through my virtual pen the things I discover.

The bare limbs of winter trees are shrouded in the soft green of hanging moss. They become my muse. Suspended wisps of fog curl between them, adding mystery, and a memory of childhood hikes through coastal forests is sparked. I shudder with an internal thrill and am reminded that it's always been this way. Nature and my soul have intertwined since my youngest years. Now this love affair, long dormant, is reignited, creating a hunger that can only be satiated with full immersion, and later, expression through writing.

To my right, a flutter of wings reveals a hawk diving for prey on a passing bank. Moments later, one flies low in front of me, so close that the details of its feathers are clear on its rounded rust-colored belly and spotted wings. I form words in my head to describe the experience as I drive.

Inspiration comes as a swollen Eel River accompanies me for miles on end. Sometimes I glimpse it through trees, sometimes low in a canyon, where it runs grey-green like jade. At times it matches the road's curves, at others it rushes under an old bridge as the road crosses above.

Redwoods, astounding in their girth and height, kiss the road's edges, so close that a passenger could have touched them had I paused.

I leave the forest, and around a bend, I am welcomed by a rainbow stretched across a field illuminated bright green by sudden sun. Later, a lazy herd of elk passes slowly in front of me, crossing the highway with the nonchalance that their imposing bulk allows. These are the things that feed my soul.

I am closer to Oregon now, and a brilliant beachside sunset presents itself north of the Klamath River when 101 drops to the sea. It's so rare in its stunning beauty that it removes breath from my lungs. I am beckoned off the highway for a photograph, and a jolt of bracing wind and the sound of waves refresh me.

The day wanes into twilight as I drive, and when I reach Gold Beach, it is already dark. Lights twinkle on the wide mouth of the Rogue River, which empties there into the sea. I enter my motel room ready for rest, thinking about tomorrow's route and what I'll find along the way.