John and I relocated to Washington State from Kentucky in 1977. We arrived in Seattle in early November to the wet grey weather the region is well known for. I remember seeing a bumper sticker that announced the “Seattle Rain Festival … November – May” and I initially assumed it was meant as a joke. But then, looking at the dripping air around me, I wasn’t so sure. I had no regrets about leaving Kentucky, but I just wasn’t ready to fully commit to this state. Then two weeks later the clouds lifted, the sun came out and it happened. I fell in love! I fell in love with a mountain. I fell in love with THE Mountain, Mount Rainier. It was truly love at first sight and I began to think of myself as a Washingtonian.
We first visited Mount Rainier National Park in April 1978 when we drove to the aptly named Paradise. I was so excited to be there. We had just taken up cross-country skiing and while John was getting the hang of it, I was not. We had gotten as far as Reflection Lakes. I was trying to master staying upright while skiing down a minor slope but with little success. I fell and got up laughing several times. When it was getting late in the day John said we had better head back, but I wanted to give it just one more try. Not surprisingly I fell again. Only this time, instead of laughing, I cried out in pain. My left leg was at an odd angle and I couldn’t move it. It became apparent that my hip was dislocated.
We were grossly unprepared to deal with such an event. The only extra clothing I had with me was a wool sweater. John helped me to put it on, but it could not protect me from the wet snow I was lying on so I soon began to feel cold. To make matters worse clouds had been moving in and it started to snow. John knew he had to go get help, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone and possibly being buried under the snow. I didn’t know what we would do. I looked towards the mountain. I don’t know what I was looking for. Perhaps reassurance that everything would turn out okay. But all I got was a cold icy stare of indifference before the clouds moved in and completely obscured the mountain. I realized then that this mountain did not care if I lived or died. So, I did what any other girl does whose love is unrequited, I started to cry.
But I was extremely lucky. Another cross-country skier soon showed up and said he would get help. And shortly after that, three fellows who had been doing some winter climbing arrived and they sprang into action. They got an insulated pad under me, warm clothes on me and a tent set up over me. They even made me some hot chocolate! I have no doubt that they saved my foolish life. I don’t remember how long it took but a Park Ranger showed up with a group of Ranger Scouts. They loaded me onto a sled and towed me back to Paradise where I was medicated with 15 glorious milligrams of Morphine. I was then transported to the nearest hospital (over 60 miles away) and put back together. I shudder to think what would have happened if those fellows had not shown up. Rest assured we learned our lesson well that day and have never been so ill prepared.
But despite my initial heartbreak I still loved that mountain and in the succeeding decades we visited Mount Rainier National Park many times. As a mountain climber, John’s relationship with the mountain was much more intimate than mine, having stood on the summit four times. In addition, he has hiked or run every trail within the park. But over the years I have done a fair amount of hiking and backpacking in the park in many of the most scenic parts. However, despite all that I have done and seen, I have felt incomplete regarding the park. There is an iconic trail I had not yet done in its entirety, The Wonderland Trail. It is a 93-mile loop that circumnavigates the mountain descending into valleys, crossing meadows and ascending over passes. That was rectified in September and October 2015, when we completed the circuit over two trips, and you can read about that trip here.
At the beginning of our trip, I felt a great sense of anticipation. But as we hiked, I also became aware of feelings of nostalgia. We started at Sunrise and I found myself thinking of previous trips and experiences in the park. As we approached the junction with the Burroughs Mountain Trail, I thought back to the first time I hiked this trail. It was July 1978 and my sister Laurel was visiting from North Carolina. At that time there wasn’t a trail all the way out to Third Burroughs and in fact a ranger told us if we saw anything that remotely looked like a trail to avoid it. An effort was being made to preserve the wild nature of the tundra, and it was working. It was a weekday and there were very few other people out there with us. Undoubtedly, the necessity of crossing a snow slope deterred some. Snow in July was a novelty for both of us, but we weren’t going to let it stop us. Whatever the reason, it was a wonderfully lonely experience. I felt as though we were exploring someplace wild within the Arctic Circle. Not surprisingly there is now a constructed trail and multiple signs reminding the multitude of hikers to stick to it to protect the delicate tundra.
As John and I continued, we got a very distant view of the Mount Fremont Lookout (near the top right of the photo).
It brought back memories of the summer of 1988 when we did a fair amount of day hiking with our young sons; three-year-old Dan and nine-month-old Tom. We carried both boys in kid carriers.
One of the first hikes we did with them was out to Mount Fremont Lookout.
I can remember looking down from the lookout to the aptly named Grand Park, someplace John and I hiked to years later. It is a huge meadow that invokes feelings of being in the Sound of Music.
I love mountain meadows. Depending on when you are there, the wildflowers can be gorgeous. The varieties are extensive and they change depending on the elevation.
The next day John and I took the Spray Park alternate route of the Wonderland Trail. We find it much more scenic than the lower, wooded stretch of the main route and believe this is the route the trail should take. We have previously day hiked and backpacked to Spray Park and have loved seeing the vast number of Avalanche Lilies present earlier in the season.
The area contains many scattered tarns, clear pools fed by snow melt.
On one backpack trip to Spray Park our friend Miller went with us. We did a side trip to the top of Observation Rock which provides a great view of Mount Rainier. Miller is ten years older than John and has been an inspiration for us both.
On another trip I got the opportunity to get a lesson in how to glissade. It was as much fun as I had always imagined it would be, not to mention faster and easier on the knees than walking down the slope.
After leaving Spray Park we headed down the trail toward Mowich Lake. As we have done before in the past, we did the short side trip to see Spray Falls.
Had we stayed on the Wonderland Trail instead of detouring through Spray Park we would have passed the junction with the trail up to Tolmie Peak Lookout.
I was reminded of two day hikes to this lookout and while I was not on the first it was still a memorable day for me. It took place in the summer I was very pregnant with Tom. John wanted to go for a hike and took two-year-old Dan with him. It was the longest period I had ever been separated from Dan, and I felt a variety of emotions that day. I first felt free and unburdened (despite my advancing pregnancy). I marveled at how easy it was to leave the house, get in the car and do some errands. However, I later went through little body withdrawal. As it got late in the day, I felt lonely for the two of them and was quite happy when they returned home.
The following summer saw all four of us there. It is quite different carrying a baby on your back rather than a loaded backpack. The center of balance is different, and they may kick and bounce at inopportune moments which threaten your balance. And you must walk very carefully when they go to sleep. But then a backpack does not keep you entertained with happy babbling, nor does it play with your hair or pat you on the back.
The view from the lookout of Eunice Lake and Mount Rainier makes the hike well worth it.
As we approached Mowich Lake I also thought back to the time we did a day hike up nearby Fay Peak. Getting to the top involved hiking up scree and loose rock, not a surface I enjoy hiking on but at least it is easier going up than down. John wanted to make a loop of it, and I was hoping that there would be an easier and more stable way down on the other side. However, we talked to another hiker on the top and he informed us that the best way down was the way we had just come up.
So, we started down. This was a memorable hike for me but not in a good way. It marked the beginning of issues with my left knee. I didn’t suffer an acute injury. Rather it was a chronic issue that undoubtedly had been brewing for a while. It was as though my knee was fed up with being silent. It began hurting and started making horrible grinding and popping noises. It really scared me as I feared my knee was going to give out completely then and there. I was afraid I would fall and be unable to hike out. John would then have to go get help and I would be left alone (and there might be bears). What I feared then was that this would be the last hike I could ever go on. But my fears were unfounded. I got down safely and we hiked out without incident. Ever since then my knees have occasionally bothered me, but they are still willing to take me to amazing places for which I am very grateful.
We rejoined the Wonderland Trail near Mowich Lake and as we headed down the trail toward the Mowich River I started thinking back to 2013 and our previous attempt at doing the Wonderland Trail. It was the end of June in a high snow year, and we knew the road up to Mowich Lake was still closed as the parking lot had not yet been plowed. So, we parked at the trailhead for Paul Peak. It was 90 degrees out and it felt odd to be carrying gaiters, ice axes and Microspikes but we knew we would need them in the days to come.
While we were preparing to start out a pickup truck drove up and three scantily clad young people got out; two guys and a girl. They had plastic kayaks in the back of the truck, and we were curious about their plans. They looked at the closed gate, then approached us and asked us if we knew why it was closed. John explained about the road and parking lot not being plowed yet and they looked perplexed. One fellow asked how far it was to the lake as they were considering walking and carrying their kayaks. It wasn’t all that far, but John mentioned that there would very likely still be ice and snow on at least portions of the lake.
This astounded them. “Snow?” they all said in unison. I said something like “Well, you’re in the mountains, it’s colder higher up”. They talked amongst themselves for a few minutes and soon drove off. I suppose they had seen a sizable lake on a map and assumed they could spend the day on the water in their shorts, tank tops and flip flops paddling around and basking in the hot sun.
On this trip, I was apprehensive as John and I headed down the trail toward the North and South Mowich Rivers. This was because we were approaching the site of my most impactful injury. It happened on that same trip in 2013. We had been assured by a park ranger that the bridges over both rivers were “in”. However, as I mentioned before it was late June, still early in the season for such a high snow year. Recent high temperatures led to a great deal of snow melt which causes very high-water levels in rivers. Fortunately getting across the North Mowich was no problem.
However, when we approached the main channel of the South Mowich River we were dismayed to see that the main bridge was tipped on its side and the water was rising noticeably. I suppose technically the bridge was “in” but that didn’t mean we could safely walk across it.
We looked for a safer place to cross without luck. Unfortunately, I stumbled and fell on some rocks. I landed on my left knee and left hand. I was immediately concerned about my knee and greatly relieved to discover it was uninjured. However, a while later, my wrist became quite swollen and painful. We were forced to make the disappointing decision to hike out the next day. We went to the closest ER where my wrist was X-Rayed. I was told it was “just sprained” which was a big relief. We were optimistic that we would be able to do this trip later in the summer after I healed up. What we didn’t learn until many weeks later was that my wrist was broken. To make a long story short, the initial misdiagnosis led to delayed treatment which necessitated complicated surgery (including a bone graft) and a prolonged recovery period. This resulted in canceling several great backpack trips we had planned to do that summer.
Needless to say, I don’t have fond memories of the South Mowich River and this year I was not completely reassured when the park ranger who issued our permits said, “All the bridges are in.” The backpackers we talked to, who were doing the trail in the opposite direction, didn’t mention any problems. Intellectually I knew it was probably fine, but emotionally I wasn’t going to trust anything except my own eyes and would not relax until we were all the way across. I was so relieved to see this bridge.
Later that day we approached an area we have backpacked in twice before – Emerald Ridge. The first was a quick trip, we were just out one night. The day started out clear but early in the afternoon a rainstorm blew in. We quickly put up our tent and literally dove inside right before the dark clouds really let loose.
Fortunately, the storm moved through quickly and we were able to eventually leave our tent to prepare supper. Our only water source was glacial melt so there was no hope of having clear water. My hot chocolate was fine, but John’s morning Tang was not as enjoyable as usual.
But the light show in the morning more than made up for any issues with the water.
On the second trip in this area of the park, we hiked to St Andrews Lake.
This was also supposed to be just a one-night trip, and we planned to head home on Sunday. However, as we were hiking out, John made a casual observation and said, “I don’t have a meeting until 1:00 tomorrow”. As we continued to hike we both thought about that and began to wonder if we could stay out another night. We figured that if we got an early start on Monday morning, we could hike out, drive home and have just enough time for John to take a fast shower and eat a quick lunch before going to the office for his meeting.
We took stock of what food we had left; two Probars, two Tiger’s Milk bars and two Tisa instant tea cubes. We decided that was enough. Once we reached Emerald Ridge, we went well off the trail to find a spot to put up our tent.
We so enjoyed that evening and the next morning. We felt like we were playing hooky. Something we both came to realize was this marked a turning point for John as he began thinking much more about the reality of retirement. We longed for the time when we could have the time and flexibility we now enjoy.
On our current trip we continued the Wonderland Trail and when we came to the junction with the trail to Indian Henry’s Hunting Ground, I remembered the time when I hiked it by myself while John was trail running elsewhere in the park. This trail goes through a lush patch of wild blueberries. I remember passing a young couple who were actively picking and eating some of the berries. The young woman looked up, smiled with a blueberry-stained mouth and suggested that I stop and do the same. I smiled back and said I prefer to leave the berries for the bears. She immediately stood straight up, her jaw dropped and with panic in her eyes she quickly looked all around her saying “Bears! There are bears out here?” She then turned to the fellow with her and said, “You didn’t tell me there would be bears out here!” I felt bad for making what seemed to me to be a lighthearted comment.
We did the Wonderland Trail over two trips and we headed to Longmire where this portion of the trip would end. As we passed Cougar Rock Campground, I thought back to trips to the park we have done with our boys in Max, our Volkswagen camper, and when we stayed at Cougar Rock.
While exploring around the campground on one such trip we happened upon the remnants of an old wooden water pipe. Dan, who was absolutely fascinated with anything to do with wires and pipes (he is now an Electrical Engineer), wanted to know where it went. We started bushwhacking through the woods but before long Tom (with his shorter legs) had enough so he and I returned to the campground. However, Dan was undeterred. Unfortunately, he and John were unable to continue to a satisfactory end. At least on that trip.
The next time we stayed at Cougar Rock Campground Dan was still determined so we all set out again. This time we happened upon a sketchy path and eventually found what was left of a dam and a cabin. We later learned that this had at one time served as the water source for Longmire.
As we neared Longmire I had another memory, a time when we brought my mom to Mount Rainier and stayed in the historic National Park Inn at Longmire.
On our first morning there, John got up early and went for a trail run. My plan was for Mom and I to enjoy a relaxed cup of coffee in our room before waking the boys up and taking them to the dining room for breakfast. However, we awoke to a power outage so that alluring coffee pot remained cold and empty. And unfortunately, the dining room was closed. By begging, I was able to obtain some small boxes of Frosted Flakes for the now awake and hungry Dan and Tom. But the staff were unwilling to sell me some eggs or anything that I could prepare in our VW camper for the rest of us. Fortunately, the power was restored before either of us became too hungry and before John returned from his run. It was circumstances such as this that reinforced a backpacker’s mentality in me where you always have what you need to survive with you. To this day I hesitate to travel anywhere without food just in case.
If you continue up the road from Longmire, you eventually get to Paradise. Even though the Wonderland Trail does not go all the way to Paradise I couldn’t help but think back about times when we have been there. There is of course the time I spent in the First Aid Room after dislocating my hip but fortunately I have better memories. I thought back to the first time we took my mom to Paradise.
It was in April 1988 and I’m not sure what possessed us to take her to Mount Rainier that day as the weather was far from optimal and there was little chance of seeing much of anything. I must have really wanted her to see this mountain I loved so much that I was willing to take a chance. We arrived at the Jackson Memorial Visitor Center at Paradise (which has since been torn down) in a cloud with cold rain. Fortunately, we were able to park quite close to the door to the lower level of the Visitor Center. We got out of the car, and I encouraged Mom to hurry inside while John and I got our two young boys out of their car seats. But when we got inside Mom was nowhere to be seen. I could not imagine what had happened to her in such a short period of time. John set out to look for her while I waited anxiously.
He eventually found her on the upper level; cold, wet and quite out of breath. Rather than going straight through the door into the lower level she had walked out of the parking lot, uphill on the road and across the broad patio to the main entrance on the upper level. I asked her why she didn’t go through the door that we were parked right next to and she exasperatedly replied “What door?!?” Apparently when confronted with the 12+ feet of snow surrounding the building she simply had not recognized the tunnel through the snow as an entrance into the building.
And then there was the time we took John’s mother to Paradise. It was June in 1983 and the weather was much more cooperative.
A highlight of that trip was spending a memorable night in the historic Paradise Inn.
We spent a pleasurable evening tucked away in the cozy mezzanine of the rustic building playing Pinochle.
We have also been there with just our boys. Living in a maritime climate meant we got very little snow where we lived. We were fond of saying in western Washington, we kept the snow in the mountains where it belonged and where we could go visit it whenever we wanted to. Sometimes we took the boys to Mount Rainier simply to play in the snow. On one such visit to Paradise they had a blast diving headfirst into holes that had formed in the deep snow.
John and I have returned to Paradise on other occasions since then to do some snowshoeing …
… as well as hiking. John took the photograph below on the way up to Camp Muir.
We were contacted by someone from the National Park Service asking our permission to use this photo in a brochure. We were flattered and of course agreed.
We had great weather on that hike and wonderful views of the mountain.
While at Camp Muir we did the short walk over to Tent Gulch, where hopeful climbers camp the day before attempting the summit. I can’t say they will spend the night there as they will start their climb to the summit in the middle of the night.
On our Wonderland Trail trip, we headed toward Reflection Lakes. While I still shudder when I think back to when I dislocated my hip, I have other memories of being in this scenic spot.
After leaving Reflection Lakes we headed down a portion of the trail I have never been on. While many of the trails in the park are focused on mountains, the highlights of this portion of the trail are several waterfalls such as Martha Falls.
The following day we crossed over Box Canyon. This was a common stopping place whenever we were in this part of the park as it is just a short walk from the road. I have never gotten tired of seeing the gracefully curved sides of this slot canyon.
As we continued, we encountered a junction with the Cowlitz Divide Trail that begins near the Stevens Canyon Entrance of the park. I remembered a time when Miller went snowshoeing with us. This entrance to the park was closed for the season and it felt odd to simply walk past a park entrance without even showing our Park Pass.
Also near that entrance is access to the Silver Falls Loop Trail. We have done the short easy trail on multiple occasions.
Heading up Hwy 123 brought us to the parking lot for the Grove of the Patriarchs, home to majestic old-growth trees. Over the years we have taken the short walk several times including one with our two boys.
Years later John and I sought out this same tree and noted the addition of the raised boardwalk. We have since learned that the action of many feet walking around the base of big trees can actually compact the soil and impair the shallow roots. I felt terrible for all the times we have done that very thing.
Another time John, our friend Miller and I were snowshoeing in the park we wanted to go over to Grove of the Patriarchs. However, we discovered the bridge leading to it had been mangled by the weight of the snow. John, the eternal optimist, initially looked to see if we could climb over the wreckage but Miller and I were skeptical. Fortunately, John’s better sense prevailed, and we moved on without attempting it.
Note: Grove of the Patriarchs is currently closed to public entry following flood damage to its suspension bridge in November 2021. Check the National Park Service website for current access information.
By continuing up 123 to Hwy 410 you reach the trailhead for the Crystal Lakes Trail. This was one of the early hikes we did with our kids.
Although the trail is steep it is only six miles round trip. Something that amazes me about the park is how many beautiful spots are so accessible.
We continued on the Wonderland Trail and our destination for the day was Indian Bar. As we were hiking up the trail I thought back to a time when John was doing one of his runs around the mountain on the Wonderland Trail and I provided support for him. On two consecutive days I drove our van to where he would finish his run for the day and we would camp together. The following morning I drove to Box Canyon so I could do a day hike to Indian Bar. I left our van in the parking lot and when John reached that point later in the day, he would be able to take a well-deserved lunch break in relative comfort while I hiked.
When I was ready to head back to the trailhead from Indian Bar, I figured John would be coming my way before long. And lo and behold I saw a figure running towards me in the distance (I’d recognize that stride anywhere). When we met on the trail we stopped only briefly as we both had miles to go to get to the White River Campground, our destination for the day. But we made the most of our brief visit, we kissed (and not just a quick peck) before separating and continuing in our respective directions. I have no idea what nearby hikers who witnessed this brief interlude thought about it.
In July 2009 we did a backpack trip to Indian Bar with our son Dan. It was the Fourth of July, and we were surprised that there was not a single other person out there over the holiday weekend. Apparently, the snow deterred people although we found it well consolidated and had no trouble even without snowshoes. Indian Bar is one of my favorite places in the park, and it was a treat to be there while there was still so much snow.
On this trip we camped at Indian Bar. The next morning as we approached Panhandle Gap, I was reminded of a backpack trip we did where we hiked well off the trail above Panhandle Gap. A highlight of that trip was seeing a large group of mountain goats, including this nanny with three kids nearby.
We also thoroughly enjoyed the panoramic view of Mount Rainier.
After crossing Panhandle Gap, we started our descent toward Summerland. There is a dramatic line of demarcation between the grey rock …
… and the beginning of the green meadows of Summerland.
While that previous trip had been in the summer and the wildflowers were in full bloom, we still enjoyed the golden meadows of fall.
Being at Summerland reminded me of the first time I had been there. It was the summer of 1988 when we took Dan and Tom hiking with us, carrying both in kid carriers. Tom was an active kid but was generally content to ride between stops. However, this time it became apparent he really wanted down so we let him hike for a while.
We camped at Summerland on the last night of our Wonderland Trail trip. The next morning, we hiked down the easy trail to the now empty White River Campground and ate lunch.
While we were there, I remembered an embarrassing event the last time I had been in this campground. John was doing one of his three-day runs around the mountain. I was providing support and we were to camp at the White River Campground that night. I arrived late in the day tired and hungry after doing that day hike to Indian Bar followed by a long drive. It was Labor Day weekend, and I was anxious about finding a campsite as we didn’t have a reservation. So, I pulled into the first one I saw.
It was a tight fit, but I didn’t want to risk losing this site in case it was the last one. I decided to get out and walk around a bit to look for a better one. I was parked next to some brush and didn’t want to risk scratching the door so I got out through the side sliding door. Once out, I shut the door behind me. And then I heard the door lock. With a sinking feeling I realized that I had left the keys in the ignition. I knew John had a key with him, but he was undoubtedly still hours away. In addition to being tired and hungry I was starting to get cold. I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I shyly approached the three young men in the adjacent campsite. I explained my predicament and they took pity on me. I was soon seated by their fire wrapped in a blanket eating some delicious Ravioli. It turned into quite an enjoyable evening.
I had written a note in the dirt where the Wonderland Trail enters the campground telling John what site I was in. However, as it was quite dark, he felt it was safer to get off the trail and take the road the rest of the way to the campground, so he never saw my note. When he first arrived at the campground he went to the registration board to see where I was parked. The only problem was I had completely forgotten about registering. There he was, it was late, he was exhausted (having run over 30 miles that day), quite hungry and beginning to get chilled. He had no food or shelter, and it appeared that I hadn’t made it. He was concerned that something had happened to me. Not knowing what else to do, he wandered through every loop in the campground and finally found our van on the last one. But he was perplexed when I was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, he approached the adjacent site and found me happily chatting away with my new friends. I sheepishly told him what had happened, but he was too relieved to be annoyed.
Back to the present I tried to put that memory behind me and focus on what was ahead, the last leg of our trip, a steep 2.6 mile hike up to Sunrise. We had expected to be hiking in the rain all day but surprisingly we remained dry for the entire day. After reaching the parking lot I stopped and looked back at the mountain, expecting what I didn’t know but what I got this time was a misty tolerance. It appeared that the clouds were stuck on the summit and it was almost as if the mountain was purposely holding them back. It wasn’t until we reached our car that it finally started to rain. Perhaps my love for this mountain will never be reciprocated but our rain-free hike that day was a gift and I was very grateful for it.
Now that I have done the Wonderland Trail I feel a sense of completeness. While I would have liked to have stood on the summit at least once in my life, I am content with the choices I made that prevented it. And I don’t want it badly enough now to do what would be necessary to achieve it at this point in my life. However, I believe I have seen the best parts of the park and there are no more trails there I feel a need to hike. We live in Arizona now and I don’t know if we will ever return to Mount Rainier National Park.
But Rainier is such a presence that I know that whenever we return to Washington State, we will see it if only in the distance. Since first moving to Washington State in 1977 I have seen many amazing mountains; in Canada, Nepal, Peru, Tanzania, New Zealand as well as the Sierra, the North Cascades, and the Rockies in the U.S. I have fallen in love with many of them but there will always be a special place in my heart for my first.
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