Picnic on the Moon: Craters of the Moon National Monument
We weren’t entirely sure we’d have time to stop at Craters of the Moon, but one glance at the black lava fields stretching along the highway and we couldn’t help ourselves. Even just a roadside picnic amidst the jagged terrain would’ve been enough. But we ended up getting a full adventure: hiking cinder cones, spotting snow inside ancient spatter cones, and meeting a tree named Fred.
While the name might suggest something out of science fiction, this national monument reminded us of places we’ve seen before—Lava Beds with its vast lava fields and open lava tubes (Craters’ lava tubes were closed due to bat conservation), and Sunset Crater in Arizona with its striking cinder cones and frozen lava flows. But here, the scale felt a little broader, the cones a little blacker, and the chance to actually climb one caught us off guard.
At Sunset Crater in Arizona, rangers were clear: stay off the cinder cones—they're too fragile. So when the ranger here at Craters in Idaho encouraged us to hike Inferno Cone, the largest in the park, we looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Really? You want us to climb this one?
Yes. Yes, they did. And what a climb it was—jet black, shimmering like someone had crushed charcoal and scattered it symmetrically around the slope. The cone rose smoothly until the very top, where the landscape suddenly broke—jagged red rocks, the final splatter of a long-cooled eruption. And off the back edge? Fred. A lone tree, somehow clinging to life on a cinder cone. The rangers told us he’s been there for years, the only shade in sight. So we did what anyone would do—we plopped down under Fred’s scraggly branches and caught our breath. There was just enough breeze and just enough tree to make it feel like a summit worth savoring.
After descending (with James taking a few involuntary slips on the cinders), we made a beeline to the Snow Cones. The name alone had the kids giddy. These spatter cones are deep and shaded enough to trap real snow inside—even after spring sunshine melts everything else. So yes, it looked like the moon from the outside. But it felt very earthly as we leaned over the edges, snow below us, short sleeves above.
The entire monument lies along the Great Rift, a massive fracture in the Earth’s crust that still bubbles with geothermal potential. The ranger casually mentioned that the area is due for another eruption—statistically speaking. You know, probably not today. But who knows? The next time we pass through, there might be a New Cone on the map.
Until then, we'll remember this as the place where we learned volcanoes have their own rules, names, snow, and—sometimes—trees named Fred.
