On May 22, 1915, Lassen Peak blew ash roughly 30,000 feet into the air and flattened square miles of forest. Congress made it a national park the following year, while the mountain was still erupting, and until Mount St. Helens in 1980 this was the most recent volcanic eruption in the contiguous United States.
Lassen Volcanic is one of the 63 national parks in ParkStamp, each with its own original stamp designs drawn in the WPA poster tradition. Every design shows a specific real place in the park, drawn as a place and not a postcard.
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It was protected as a curiosity first. Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed two small national monuments here in 1907, Lassen Peak and Cinder Cone, preserving what most geologists of the day regarded as interesting but extinct volcanic scenery. The peak had no recorded eruptions and no particular menace. That held for seven years.
On May 30, 1914, the mountain woke up. Steam explosions opened a new crater near the summit and kept coming, more than a hundred of them over the following year, while a local businessman named B. F. Loomis hauled a large-format camera up the mountain and photographed the blasts as they happened. The climax came on May 22, 1915: lava at the summit, a hot lateral blast that leveled forest for miles on the northeast side, and mudflows that tore down the creek valleys as the eruption melted the snowpack. Remarkably, no one was killed. The scarred fan of ground below the peak is still labeled the Devastated Area on park maps.
Congress moved while the ash was still settling. Woodrow Wilson signed the park into law on August 9, 1916, folding both monuments into a new Lassen Volcanic National Park: an eruption turned into a founding argument, with Loomis's photographs as exhibit A. Loomis spent the rest of his life promoting the park and left it his museum, which still stands near Manzanita Lake.
The peak itself is a plug dome, one of the largest on Earth: a stiff piston of lava about 2,000 feet high squeezed up in a geologic instant some 27,000 years ago. It grew on the flank of something much bigger: Mount Tehama, a stratovolcano that once stood about 11,000 feet here and has since eroded to a ring of remnants, of which Brokeoff Mountain is the largest. Between them, the park holds all four types of volcano found on Earth (shield, stratovolcano, cinder cone and plug dome), which no other national park can say.
The Sierra Nevada red fox is barely hanging on, and this is one of its last strongholds. A small, high-elevation subspecies with fur-soled feet for travel over snow, it was thought possibly gone from California's mountains until camera traps confirmed a tiny population in the Lassen area. The animals here number in the dozens at most, which makes a glimpse of one rarer than almost any wildlife sighting the park system offers.
Snow is the other fact of life. Lassen catches Pacific storms at elevation and buries itself under some of the deepest snowpacks in California; drifts around Lake Helen routinely persist into July, and the park's high country is white for more than half the year. Everything living here is organized around a short, intense summer: mountain hemlock bent into krummholz, pikas haying under the talus, frogs breeding in meltwater.
Manzanita Lake exists because a mountain fell down. Around three centuries ago the Chaos Crags, a cluster of young lava domes near the park's northwest corner, shed a series of enormous rock avalanches that ran miles across the valley floor and dammed Manzanita Creek. The debris field is called the Chaos Jumbles; the lake behind it is now the park's front porch, ringed with ponderosa and full of trout.
The Devastated Area is a century-long experiment. The 1915 blast stripped it to mineral soil, and ecologists have watched the forest reassemble ever since: pines seeding into pumice, aspen following water, soil rebuilding from nothing. It is one of the clearer places in America to see how long recovery actually takes: a hundred years on, the trees are still obviously young.
The classic view of the park: a 10,457-foot plug dome, among the largest on Earth, doubled in a lake created when rock avalanches from the Chaos Crags dammed the creek about three centuries ago. On a still morning the reflection is nearly perfect. Pick it for the postcard the 1915 eruption made famous.
Sixteen acres of boiling springs, mudpots and roaring fumaroles, the largest hydrothermal area in the park, named for Kendall Bumpass, a guide who broke through the crust in the 1860s and lost his leg to the burns. A boardwalk now crosses the basin, past Big Boiler, one of the hottest fumaroles ever measured in the park system.
A 700-foot cone of loose black scoria in the park's remote northeast corner, built by an eruption dated by tree rings to around 1666. The trail goes straight up the cinders to a double-rimmed crater; below spread the Painted Dunes, ash oxidized orange and pink where it fell on still-hot lava. The strangest ground in the park.
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