A Rogue River waterfall tumbles through the forest a few hundred yards below Boundary Springs in Crater Lake National Park. 

With all due respect to Ralph Waldo Emerson, sometimes it is the destination and not the journey.

That was case Saturday when my wife, Nancy, and I set off through a burned forest along Highway 230 to visit Boundary Springs, the spot where the Rogue River bursts from the dry, pumice soil as a fully formed river and begins its journey to the Pacific Ocean.

Eight years ago the hike to Boundary Springs was a stroll through a mostly shady forest of Shasta red fir, lodgepole pine and hemlock. On Saturday, it was a hot, dusty, fully exposed hike through black and silver trunks of the forest killed by the National Creek Fire Complex in 2015.

A recovering forest in a landscape shaped by fire has its own beauty, and the millions of young pines sprouting among the standing dead timber are worthy of poetry, but on Saturday it was hot as all get out on that trail, so we were focused on the cool, mossy destination.

The hike begins at a pullout for the Mount Mazama Viewpoint on Highway 230, 18 miles from where 230 begins off Highway 62 outside Union Creek. It’s a rollercoaster hike that starts at 4,900 feet elevation and ends just 160 feet higher 2.5 miles later, with lots of ups and downs in between, but nothing really steep or long.

The trail begins as the Upper Rogue River Trail, and the Boundary Springs Trail branches off to the left a half-mile in, but it can be easy to miss when you are looking down to ensure solid footing.

We counted roughly 100 down trees across the trail we had to step or climb over — not really a lot considering the millions of standing dead trees that are going to fall in future storms — many woodpeckers were working Saturday to help that process along — but enough to add a little workout to what otherwise is a pretty tame trail.

As we approached the turnoff to the Boundary Springs Trail, we were greeted by a couple who stopped to let us know the turnoff was just ahead. They had missed it on their way in and had hiked for miles along the Upper Rogue Trail until they turned around. They spotted the turnoff on their way back and didn’t want us to miss it too.

They were the only people we saw on the trail for the next several hours.

Another half-mile from that turnoff, the trail crosses a dirt road, where we turned right for about 100 feet and then picked up the trail on the other side of the road. Signs along the trail are pretty much nonexistent. Most were destroyed by the fire, and the few that remain are so weathered they are barely readable, but the trail is easy to follow.

As we approached the springs, the path was in better shape in the pockets where moisture from the river allowed some of the trees to survive. A couple hundred yards from the main springs, a gorgeous tiered waterfall appears in the trees to the left, and we were tempted to stop and admire it, but we were focused on the destination and passed it by.

When we reached our spot 10 minutes later, we didn’t even remember the dusty road to get there.

The Rogue essentially explodes from the ground from what looks like a hole in the ground. In reality there are numerous springs and seeps, but the biggest volume comes from a central vent hidden beneath a jumble of rocks and logs.

We knelt as close to the source as we could and dunked our heads into the icy water to wash away the dust and our haste. We ate lunch, took photos and marveled at the beauty of the springs.

We went from hot and sweaty to cool and philosophical. How many Native Americans must have done just what we were doing? Is it the water that is singing as it bursts from the ground, or are the rocks making all that sound to welcome the water?

We hung out at the springs for about an hour, amazed that we had it all to ourselves in the peak of tourist season inside Crater Lake National Park. We wandered around and admired the yellow stands of monkey flowers, spotted some Indian paintbrush, lupines, penstemon and lots of red huckleberry.

We felt like different people when we shouldered our daypacks and began the walk back to our truck. We sauntered. We stopped at the waterfall we had passed on the way in and traded adjectives and accolades it inspired. We took selfies and panoramas and zoom shots. We edged away reluctantly, in no hurry to return.

We stopped in Union Creek for ice cream on the drive back, still trying to stretch out the day, to infuse the joy of that special destination into the journey.