A raven surveys its surroundings from atop Lava Butte.

You probably know this already, but some people are really serious about scaling peaks. They travel in order to “bag” as many peaks as they can. They read books about Mount Everest. Several are able to define the word “crampon.”

For the rest of us, I propose a more modest goal: hiking as many buttes as we can.

The way I see it, why slog up South Sister when you can hoof it up Lava — or Overturf, Bessie, Pilot or Horse buttes — and barely break a sweat? That’s just naming well-trod buttes in and around Bend. A bit farther afield, you have Gray, Black, Glass and a butte-load of other choices.

But why hike a butte? The reasons are many: Generally, buttes afford terrific views, and little in the way of travel or sherpas is necessary. No matter how late a start you get, you’re generally back down in time for lunch.

Gear? Bring all you’d like to lug, but a few layers, a water bottle and granola bar will usually suffice.

Best of all, by hike’s end, your legs do not feel like overcooked noodles — yet you still get a nice little endorphin buzz from the exercise and sense of accomplishment (however minimal the accomplishment).

Recently, I returned to Lava Butte, a 500-foot cinder cone located between Bend and Sunriver.

From the parking lot at Lava Lands Visitor Center, located near the base of the butte, you can access Benham East, a trailhead that affords access to Benham Falls or Sunriver. Or take Black Rock Trail, the underused, four-mile slice of singletrack heaven that connects Benham East with Lava Butte. (Yes, even as the Forest Service prepares to build an asphalt trail that will connect Sunriver and Lava Butte, you can already connect to Sunriver by taking Black Rock Trail to the Deschutes River Trail.)

These fantastic hiking, running and biking options are just minutes away, about 10 miles south of Bend. Black Rock is my go-to destination for an early-evening run when the days are long enough. In fact, I can get to Lava Butte faster from my southeast Bend home than I can get to Phil’s Trail, and, usually, I can have it to myself.

A couple of Saturdays back, we decided to take my visiting in-laws up Lava Butte.

Once I got it in my head to return to Lava Butte, I got it in my head to re-enact a favorite photo of my three daughters taken six or seven years ago. In the photo, they’re perched atop the “Lava Butte” sign that awaits visitors to the top of the butte — lest anyone forget which butte they’ve reached the top of, I guess. They’re tickled pink in the picture because they’re perched in such a way that the sign appears to read “A BUTT.” It’s been the desktop image on my work computer for years. I’m pretty sure the way up that day years ago was fraught with the usual complaints, maybe even tantrums and pouting — mine and theirs — but all the stuff that seemed so annoying then turned out to be so, so fleeting. I smile every time I stop and look at the photo.

My oldest daughter, now a seventh-grader, was at a sleepover the night before and opted out of this latest hike up Lava Butte. So there would be no exact re-enactment, although her twin sisters, 10, were game.

When we pulled up to the after-hours portion of the parking lot — basically, the southernmost portion of Lava Lands Visitor Center’s parking lot, which, in season, serves as its exit — there were already several cars in the lot.

It’s a quarter mile just to the gate separating the lot, and it’s a ways further to reach the base. The road wraps like a cinder-colored scarf around the butte, and the incline is steep.

The day we went was cold and windy, with intermittent sun — in other words, spring in Central Oregon. There was some lingering snow when we reached the north side of the butte, but we also got a welcome break from the wind.

The view improved steadily as we climbed. Though the mountains to the west were mostly socked in, we saw Black Butte and a bunch of the others I mentioned earlier.

Once we reached the south side again, the wind picked back up, but we were too busy gushing over the lava flow below. According to the U.S. Geological Survey, Lava Butte erupted about 7,000 years ago and covered 9 square miles with lava, going so far as to affect the Deschutes River’s course.

At the summit, elevation 5,020 feet, I saw the Lava Butte sign and let out a disappointed “Aw.”

It had been fenced off in such a way that we couldn’t access it. But part of my disappointment was seeing how tiny the sign had become. Was there really a time when my kids were so little that the three of them had sat on it — and still left enough room for “a butt” to appear?

I knew they had grown, but I said to the group, “Surely that’s a different sign.”

“No, it’s the same,” one of my daughters said.

“You can tell it’s old,” my wife said.

“That’s crazy, though,” I said.

“They were little,” my wife said.

“All three of them sat on it,” my mother-in-law, who had been up there with us that previous trip, said to my father-in-law.

“Dad,” one of my daughters asked, “did you think it was going to be a lot bigger?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling like I’d been struck across the face by the hand of time.

“Aw, we must have been tiny,” my daughter said, affecting a high-pitched little girl voice.

Maybe we all felt a little more mortal, but we weren’t going to let it spoil the fun of all this geologic wonder. We went inside the little observation room beneath the fire tower and took a break from the cold while we took in the views. Above the windows, signs pointed out the various peaks around us.

On the way back down the butte, we passed two other groups on their way up the butte, ready to take in the views.

All told, our 3.8-mile hike took just under two hours. Overall, it had been a great hike, and we made it back to Bend in time for lunch.

Best of all: No crampons required. Whatever they are.