9.1-8, 2013 — Hiking in Washington
Hiking is the one constant in my life — every time I go for a hike, I have a great time. Walking amidst the wonders of the wilderness never, ever disappoints. So as I boarded a flight for Seattle on Aug. 31, I knew I was en route to something special. Joining my Dad for eight days of tramping in the Pacific Northwest would be fantastic, magnificent and an incredibly memorable experience.
Still, still … the trip exceeded my expectations.
By far.
That’s how magical, how mythical, how …. I prefer the word “otherworldly” … the hiking in the Olympic Mountains, on Washington’s coast, in the Hoh Rainforest, and on the slopes of Mount Rainier was. It’s impossible, really, at least for me (limited vocabulary, folks!), to put into words the experience.
But like on any climb (read about the Pinnacle Peak ascent on Sept. 7 below), I’m not one for giving up. So here goes a day-by-day journal of a long week I could never possibly forget.
Thank you, Dad, for organizing this trip!
TRIP STATS
Days hiking: 6
Miles hiked (approximated): 48.4
Tahini and sunbutter sandwiches consumed by me: 9
Marmots seen: 17
Bears seen: 1
Elk seen: 1
Eagles seen: 1
Coyotes seen: 1
Sunday, Sept. 1 — Klahhane Ridge, Mount Angeles, 8 miles hiked
First a note on Saturday’s drive to our base of the Red Lion Inn in Port Angeles, Wash., which lies on the northern tip of the state bordered by the Strait of Juan de Fuca to the north (and Canada north of the water):
After getting our Alamo rental car (red Hyundai sedan, in case you’re interested) and meeting at the checkout gate a woman who went to my rival high school in Ann Arbor, Mich., (small world!), our first stop was an REI to pick up stove gas and a couple meals for the beach, where restaurants are sparse. No issues. Our next stop was a Whole Foods.
Or so we thought.
Turns out, Google Maps directed us to one of two “Wholefoods,” a small natural foods store that’s been around longer than the health food giant. How amusing! While the one-room business didn’t have everything we needed for eight days of breakfasts, lunches and snacks, it did have the best gluten-free bread I’ve ever tasted. No joke.
From there, we found a suitable alternative to Whole Foods — although a little out of the way — and finally, post-shopping, we were destination-bound. We stopped to eat our dinner at the Dungeness Spit just east of Port Angeles, a strip of land that extends into the calm body of water. We sat on a bed of rocks and enjoyed a picturesque sunset before driving to the hotel.
Sunday morning, still somewhat on EST, we awoke easily a little after 7 and prepared for our first hike. After our staple breakfast of granola with raisins, dried cherries, and milk, combined with coffee, we were ready to hit the trail. We drove south of Port Angeles on Hurricane Ridge Road, entering Olympic National Forest and driving up, up and up!
We started our hike on the Switchback Trail, which would take us up to Klahhane Ridge. But the adventure began before we’d taken 12 steps. At the trailhead, a large sign warned of mountain goats. Here are a few snippets from the text:
“Goats have sharp, lethal horns.”
“Goats will follow people waiting for them to urinate.”
“Urinate on rocks or snow at least 100 feet from the trail.”
The sign advised to stay at least 50 feet away from goats and added that if you’re viewed within that distance of the animal, you might be cited under “36CFR1.5(f).”
Woah.
The part about pissing off the trail really got our attention. To stay hydrated on such a hike, well, you know. Now, these damn goats were adding extra walking to our trek! I wasn’t really worried about the creatures, though.
The trail was beautiful and an easy dirt path. We followed a gradual grade up switchbacks, with views quickly opening up of towering Mount Angeles (6,454 feet) and the snow-capped bigger Olympics to the south. After 1.4 miles of climbing, we reached Victor’s Pass and the beginning of the ridge trail. I gazed up to our left at the sheer, smooth rock face of Mt. Angeles, wondering how the heck it could be ascended! We had talked earlier about possibly making the scramble up the mountain, even though it was advised only for climbers.
After shooting a handful of photos, we turned our attention to the 2.5 miles of ridge hiking that lay ahead of us. The sky was mostly clear. The temperature was perfect — mid-60s, very little humidity. We began walking northeast.
Before long, we ran into a man with a long stick or pole — exactly what it was has skipped my mind. We began chatting and he mentioned that he’d passed a group of goats on the trail ahead of us and had to poke one away that was approaching him. At the time, this seemed a tad crazy but not insane. Continue reading.
Within half a mile, sure enough, we spotted five of the white, horned goats on a hillside of fir trees above us. I picked up a medium-sized stick, ready to wield them off. That, thankfully, wasn’t necessary. As we approached the spot, the goats were about 40 feet off the trail to the right. We stopped, quickly snapped a few photos, and continued on.
Roughly half a mile later, I caught up to Dad after having to leave the trail for you know what. He was talking to a pair of hikers who would later introduce themselves as Port Angeles locals Al and Holly. Dad recounted to me what they had told him — that on the very trail we were hiking, just two years ago, Al had come on the scene where a goat had gored a man to death. Al had watched in horror, helpless, as the goat stood over its victim.
Now that was an isolated incident. There haven’t been more goat murders. Still, it made the potential danger of the animal real to us. We were thankful to have run into Al and Holly.
Maybe half an hour later, I was gazing around admiring the 360-degree beauty (a theme of the trip!) when I noticed a horde of white animals in the distance walking down the trail toward us. The goats were coming. At Al’s urging, we joined the couple on a pile of rocks to the left of and, more importantly, above the trail and waited. Al found a rock the size of a kids’ soccer ball just in case. We ate our lunch but kept our eyes peeled.
And then the goats arrived, walking briskly around the corner on the trail, just, you know, going for an afternoon hike! As they approached us, they hesitated and looked up, but not for long. The lead goat — a huge one that almost appeared the size of a polar bear — continued on and was followed. We snapped away with our cameras.
After the goats turned the corner, we followed behind them to take more photos and, when at a safe distance, continue our hike. Al and Holly turned around. We went a little farther, but then we noticed two of the creatures — an adult and a child — lying on a flat rock, resting, it appeared, to our right. Hey, goats get tired, too! Knowing the horror story and not wanting to get trapped between a goat and our return path, we changed direction a little bit before what we had originally planned.
It turned out a smart move, considering the hiking left on our Day 1 agenda. As we returned to Victor’s Pass, we ran back into our knowledgeable pair of friends, and they informed us that if we hiked down the Switchback Trail and then took the cutoff for Sunrise Ridge (another awesome ridge path that leads to the Hurricane Ridge visitors center), we could scramble up Mt. Angeles from the south.
It was only 0.4 miles, but the hike was incredibly steep. We stopped every couple minutes to catch our breath. About halfway up, the maintained trail ended and we looked around for an ideal route up the craggy, loose rock above us. We veered to the left and spent the next 15 minutes digging our boots into a trail of pebbles, dirt and a few stable rocks. The going was arduous but also fun. We were climbing, with an impressive goal in mind.
And an inspiring reward. With a little careful rock-to-rock scrambling (breath, choose handhold, find foothold, continue … repeat), we gained the top of what we believed to be the middle of Angeles’ three spire-like summits. There was just a couple small rocks for us both to sit on, and winds gusted around us. I didn’t dare take off my Camelback. But the views were phenomenal — more jagged rocks to the northwest, the strait beyond them, and, of course, the Olympics to the south.
I left Dad to his photographing from the summit, walked to a level spot where I could put on my down coat under my windbreaker, and found a pair of rock outcroppings of my own to scramble up and enjoy. We were in paradise.
On the way down, as if it wasn’t exciting enough navigating the scree, guess who rounded the corner but two goats — not 30 feet from me. I quickly scrambled up to where Dad was and we scared them down behind a rock wall by gently tossing a few rocks. We waited for a sign that they had retreated down the mountain, but then Dad caught them, on camera, peering around the wall. They weren’t leaving.
Thankfully, there was an alternate route we could descend to the left of our ascent path and we avoided the goats. We’d had enough excitement for the day.
After descending, we drove the additional 4 miles to the Hurricane Ridge center (5,400 feet), the extremely popular destination for tourists and those interested in short, easy hikes on pavement. It wasn’t my favorite place, but it offered easy access to great viewpoints. Despite its name, we enjoyed sunset from Sunrise Ridge just 0.3 miles from the parking lot.
It had been an action-packed, tiring first day of hiking in the Northwest and we rewarded ourselves with a delicious seafood dinner at the restaurant adjacent to the Red Lion. Not long after, I passed out and had a nightmare (although not about goats but about Michigan basketball; go figure).
EXTRA: On the first day, we noticed something that would become a theme throughout the week: Hikers in the Northwest are very friendly and outgoing. For close to a mile on the descent of Switchback Trail, we were joined by Mark Coffee, a local who has lived in the 30,000-population town of Port Angeles for 40-some years. He lent us plenty of knowledge about the area and was fun to chat with.
Monday, Sept. 2 — Grand Ridge, Hurricane Hill, 8 miles hiked
The forecast wasn’t as promising for our second day in the rainy state, and we took our time getting ready in the morning as the sky drizzled on the parking lot outside. A little after 11, we got in the bright-red Hyundai and made the drive back up Hurricane Ridge Road, only once we reached the visitors center we swung a hard left on the dirt Obstruction Peak Road.
Roughly 7.8 harrowing miles later of tight curves and a complete lack of guardrails, we arrived at a surprisingly full parking lot — the trailhead for the Grand Ridge. The hike was simple and short, 2.5 miles each way on a ridge trail that promised above-the-world-type views.
It turned out being, arguably, the coolest trail we’ve ever hiked on. Considering experiences in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, Yosemite National Park, and Colorado, that is impressive and far from a blanket statement.
Here’s why it was so amazing:
A) The trail was tucked into the side of Obstruction and then Elk mountains on its left, with the grade never becoming severe and the footing easy on either packed-down dirt or a few scattered rocks.
B) To our right, we could gaze into the valley below us but we mostly affixed our eyes to the addicting, snow-dominated range of peaks not far from us.
C) Ahead of us, the trail wound around to the Northeast with looming peaks — including two that looked incredibly similar to New Hampshire’s Mts. Washington and Jefferson — painting a picturesque background.
D) Oh, and there was the marmot. As we were walking along, we heard a loud squealing noise. After scanning the meadow below us, our eyes locked on a furry, light brown creature next to a rock. We slowly approached as close as we could on the trail, our cameras ready. I was nervous the little guy might crawl into his hole and disappear. In fact, he did quite the opposite, climbing on the rock and preening for us. We snapped away. After awhile, he became bored and whistled for his marmot friend to meet him farther down the mountain. What an experience.
F) Finally, the cherry on the whipped cream came on the way back when we scrambled up the lichen-covered rock, carefully avoiding the alpine tundra, to the rounded, flat summit of Elk Mountain (which has two peaks, actually). Up at 6,777 feet, we had unobstructed views for miles in all directions which were made all the more brilliant by the wispy clouds constantly moving and creating different landscapes to admire. For instance, one minute, a pair of the white, wispy things perfectly framed the Strait to the south. Moments later, they did the same around the peak of Mt. Angeles to the west. We spent half an hour exploring the wind-swept, chilly summit before finally walking down the rocks back to the trail and las portion of our return journey.
Probably because of the weather and the fact that it was Monday (even Labor Day Monday), we could count on one hand the people we saw. But we did pass a man and his three young children. The guy stopped to tell us that in all his years hiking in Washington’s Cascades and Olympic ranges as well as Colorado, he’d never been on a more scenic trail.
By the time we returned to the car a little after 5pm, we agreed.
(Note: During the car ride back to Hurricane Ridge, we dug a bit deeper into our hiking memories and concluded that, yes, of course, the present is always freshest in the mind so it was hard to label Grand Ridge the best trail we’d ever been on. But we concluded, undoubtedly, it’s in our top five, not that it really matters.)
After returning to Hurricane Ridge and resting briefly, we hiked up Hurricane Hill, 1.3 miles of paved trail, for sunset. Dad had done the hike when he visited the area with Mom a year earlier in June. They had tramped through snow. Lots of it. On our ascent, I felt warm and the views were spectacular. Mt. Olympus, the range’s jewel mountain with three peaks near 8,000 feet, is spectacular to begin with. When sunrays dance across its wooded lower reaches, it’s hard to look away.
The trail is no joke, and we huffed and puffed our way up, eager to reach the hill’s crest by the time (about 8pm) the sun dipped below the horizon. We made it in time and Dad hurriedly set up his camera on the tripod to capture the layer of clouds that sat below us to the west extending all the way to the ocean. The views of Victoria, British Columbia, were enshrouded in color, too.
There were clouds in the sky, but not all its parts. When we returned, in darkness, to the parking lot, an astrologer there for a nighttime exhibit encouraged us to take a look at the sky through his telescope.
And there, shining bright in the far, far sky, was Saturn, rings and everything!
It was a final incredible “view” during a day with hundreds of them. A fitting way to end our Day 2 adventure before driving, once again, down, down and down.
EXTRA: When we arrived at the parking lot for Grand Ridge and a couple other trails, a pair of backpacking groups had just finished multiple-day hikes. They asked if we knew about a pub in Port Angeles with good burgers and beer, lots of it. This birthed this idea: Why not at least carry beers in the trunk to provide to finishing backpackers? Maybe charge $1 each? This was one of many random thoughts you have during a week on the trail.
Tuesday, Sept. 3 — Hoh Rainforest, 6 miles hiked
I woke up Tuesday and, unsurprising, it was raining. This made for a great dip in the hotel pool and hot tub before we checked out and hit the road. I was feeling fresh. The weather radar had no storm clouds to the west, and sure enough, as we drove out of Port Angeles on 101, the rain ceased and the sky turned blue. We stopped at Crescent Lake for a few minutes and admired the long, still body of water surrounded by 4,000-foot peaks.
Then it was back on the road for about a 90-minute drive to the Hoh Rainforest. (Interjection: I know what you’re thinking. Rainforest? United States? Well, yeah. There aren’t monkeys on trees. That’s reserved for the tropical ones south of the equator. But there is temperate rainforest, and it’s all in Washington. We had to check it out.)
In the Hoh, we took a 6-mile out-and-back hike that was almost entirely flat and easy to follow (we had planned to go as far as 5 miles each way, but reports people gave us along the trail were that things didn’t change that much, so we took it slow, stopped for lunch by the river, and turned around after passing a pair of cascading waterfalls).
After hearing from someone by the trail’s beginning that they’d seen an elk, our hopes of coming upon wildlife were high. Maybe too high. We didn’t see more than a deer and some small birds.
Still, the rainforest was incredibly beautiful and unique. The only thing I’ve experienced that compares is the rainforest I visited — and actually mountain biked through — in Australia. It was very green, lush and mossy. Moss draped down from tree branches, hugged tree trunks, and generally dominated the scenery.
For me, the hike didn’t have the excitement of the first two days, but that didn’t take away from the beauty. It was a nice change of pace and a fairly easy hike.
In the afternoon, we drove out of Hoh, back through Forks — the filming place of “Twilight” — and on to La Push on the coast. We checked into the resort run by the local Indian reservation and after unloading all our stuff at our cabin just 100-some yards from the ocean, we packed a dinner bag and made the short walk to the beach a bit after 7pm.
There was an awesome, gigantic log — 4 to 8 feet in diameter — perfectly situated about 100 feet from the water, an ideal dinner spot. I got out my stove and pot, boiled some water, and we enjoyed mountain dinners we had bought at REI on Saturday — pasta primavera for Dad and gluten-free Mountain Chili for me. The food was delicious, but that didn’t stop us (Dad especially) from taking several breaks to rush down to the beach and frame photos of the sun setting over the water and a few sea stacks just off the land. The sea stacks were actually well situated, as they blocked the sun from creating a glare.
Once the sun dipped below the sea’s horizon and the sky turned all kinds of brilliant, inspiring colors, we sat on the log and just soaked it all in — in no rush to head back to the cabin. I laid down for a while and nearly fell asleep, it was so peaceful.
What a setting. What a day.
I could only wonder, what would the next day bring?
EXTRA: The cabin was pretty cool. For a fairly affordable price (ask Dad) that also benefited the reservation (much easier to support than, say, Holiday Inn), we got a half kitchen, dining room table, big bed (for Dad) and a ladder that took me up to a loft with a pair of mattresses that I spread my sleeping bag on. I slept just fine, although I did wake Dad up in the middle of the night when I lowered myself down the vertical ladder next to his bad to use the bathroom.
EXTRA EXTRA: Dad wanted to take dozens of pictures in the rainforest that were cool but I didn’t have a ton of interest in. This is where my book came in handy. Dad and I have a great dynamic where if he’s taking lots of photos as he should (because he’s amazing at it), I sit down, or stand, and read my book. I was reading “Strokes of Genius,” about the greatest tennis match ever played between Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer in 2008. Reading in the rainforest. It’s got a ring to it, right?
Wednesday, Sept. 4 — Third Beach, Rialto Beach, 9.4 miles hiked
The first morning at the beach was cold. Thankfully, there was an espresso stand conveniently a 100-foot walk from our cabin’s front door. Dad made a visit and was warmed up.
The fourth day of our trip offered the third kind of hike — beach hiking.
In the morning, we drove south of the First Beach on which our resort was located to Third Beach. Well, we had to reach the beach first, but that was done with an easy 1.4-mile hike through beautiful, tall whispering pines. It was an ideal way to start our morning, to warm up the legs.
After a short descent, we arrived at the beach and more of the same huge, how-did-they-get-here?? burned-white logs. We did a little log-to-log footwork to reach the sand, removed our hiking shoes, and did some barefoot hiking until we came to a huge blowdown. Continuing on the beach would have meant getting soaked up to our waists. It was warming up, but the weather wasn’t that hot. Instead, we noticed a hiker-created path up and over the mash of sand and trees that blocked our way.
When we reached the other side of the blowdown, I noticed a checkered black and red sign on a tree at the edge of the woods indicating the beginning of the trail skirting the bluff. That’s when our real adventure began. It was steep to gain the trail, but whoever created the path was aware of this and had created “sand ladders” which consisted of ropes to pull yourself up the packed-down sand. Brilliant! Dad and I had fun using a handful of sand ladders as we climbed back into the woods.
Following an up-and-down 1.75-mile hike through a lot of green, we descended to Taylor Point where we sat to eat lunch and prepare for the trip back. (Note: For this and every beach hike, Dad had come very well prepared with a tide chart so that we knew when we’d be able to pass certain points and when we needed to be back past spots that would be impassable during high tide.) As we climbed over the blowdown on Third Beach an hour later, we noticed a group of three high school girls fighting the waves in a sea (literally) of tree branches below. They were taking the hard way. During high tide. Thankfully, they made it back to their classmates, as they were at the beach for a school trip (why didn’t my classes ever take trips to the Pacific Ocean?).
For a mid-afternoon snack, we followed signs in town for “SMOKED FISH,” to a house where a teenager sold us a $20 sealed packet of the stuff. We took the fish back to our cabin and combined it with cheese, crackers and wine. Not bad! Then we hopped back in the Hyundai and drove a circuitous route to Rialto Beach.
Why circuitous, you ask? Because even though Rialto was in sight from First Beach and the restaurant in La Push we would eat at that night, a nameless inlet maybe 50 yards wide separated the landmasses. On our National Geographic map, the words “Not Fordable” were clear. We had to drive.
The Rialto hike was straightforward. Two miles each way. On sand. No bluffs to hike over. No sand ladders. Our destination, however, was what made it intriguing. We, and dozens of others, were walking on the packed-down sand toward the “Hole-in-the-Wall.” There were also some cool sights along the way…
Pelicans, dozens of the odd-but-intriguing birds, soared above the breaking waves, occasionally dipping their long beaks and punching them into the rough waters in search of fish. The pelicans were followed, at times, by smaller birds that would try to steal the pelicans’ catches from their large mouths before they got a grip. It was quite a sight to watch (and photograph).
We also passed tidal pools and explored them, finding plenty of sea urchins and even a rare starfish.
(NOTE: See! We couldn’t go a hike, whether at 6,700 feet or at sea level, without seeing some form of interesting wildlife!)
When we reached the Hole-in-the-Wall, it was still over an hour until low tide, so we instead took a trail over the bluff connected to the top of the rocky wall and photographed the sea stacks and people entering the wall below. Then we descended on the north side of the wall and explored the monument of sorts.
The hole was cool, but again, it was a situation where Dad could spent a lot more time taking zoomed-in photos of the wildlife in the water than I could stay interested, so I continued on and found a spot behind some logs on the beach to lie down.
Later, I woke up from a deep sleep. Dad was standing over me. I had passed out under the sun and because I was obstructed from view by the logs, Dad had walked a few hundred feed down the beach before thinking there’s no way I would have continued that far without telling him. He’d smartly backtracked and found me. Who knows how long I would have been dreaming in that warm Rialto Beach sand if not for Dad’s thinking.
EXTRA: In the evening, we visited the Riverside Restaurant in La Push for dinner. The restaurant was interesting in a couple ways — it was owned and operated by the reservation, and it didn’t serve alcohol. The service was also quick and the seafood platter was satisfying, even sans wine. After dinner, we returned to First Beach and laid out in the sand until darkness. It was the perfect way to wind down after a long day of hiking under the sun.
Thursday, Sept. 5 — Travel day, La Push to Mount Rainier
Thursday was a rest day. At least for me. Dad had to drive, but neither of us would be doing much hiking. However, as is our tradition and why we get along so well on these trips, we maximized our La Push experience by walking down to the beach before our departure. Dad saw a rainbow, a result of the early morning rain. I missed the rainbow but was OK with it. More exquisite beauty awaited!
We had close to six hours of driving to reach our final stop on Operation Hike Washington, Mount Rainier. Before we left the coast, though, we stopped at Ruby Beach for a final short hike on the sand. Aware that high tide was on its way, we didn’t travel far from the parking lot, but I did get to scramble up some sea stacks and there were a few nice photo opportunities for Dad, so it was a good way to close out our beach experience (no swimming, folks; too COLD!) as a slight rain began to fall.
Then the key thing happened. As Dad was loading backpacks and camera gear into the trunk, he dropped the car keys. The trunk closed. We were locked out! (something I’ve done twice with my Honda Civic; I wasn’t positioned to criticize, not that I would anyway). Continuing the “good people” theme for the trip, the first couple we asked for help assisted in a big way. Not only could we use their phone in the rain; they also had Triple AAA card and the number to call. Less than an hour later, a man from Forks, Wash. (Twilight alert!) came and worked his magic. We were back on the road.
We stopped at the Kalaloch Lodge, our last destination on the coast, for lunch. As I was finishing my spinach salad (really delightful, by the way), Dad noticed what he thought was an eagle on a treetop by the beach and excused himself. I loved this. The man is passionate about his photography and capturing the amazing wildlife of places like the Northwest. I think he ended up getting a good shot of the beautiful bird.
From there, we veered westward and the scenery changed to flatlands, Walmarts, fast food joints and traffic. Southern central Washington is the only ugly part of the state, something I already knew from my bike trip from Vancouver to the Mexican border four years ago. This boredom gave us a chance to listen to Dad’s four CDs from home (some good classic rock and folk music), talk about life, and imagine what lay ahead.
Mount Rainier, all 14,440 feet of it.
The biggest, baddest, most incredible mountain in the state (and maybe the country, although Mt. Whitney is, by elevation, the tallest).
The question was whether (pun intended) we would be able to see anything during our two days staying and hiking around Paradise Inn at 5,400 feet on the mountain’s south side. The forecast was for rain and more rain. The only hope was that the clouds would clear on Saturday, when there was just a 30 percent likelihood of precipitation.
As we drove up the winding road inside the national park’s boundaries, I could sense what was around us. The river to our right. The giant, snow-packed slopes above us. The abundant wildlife. I just couldn’t see any of it. Visibility was terrible.
We arrived at the Inn around 6:30pm and unpacked our suitcases full of hiking clothes, our food bags, our shoes and boots. Since the scenery was nonexistent outside the Inn, we settled for an overpriced dinner inside at the one restaurant (NOTE: As Dad and I have discussed at length, the national park with the best food situation is, by far, Yosemite, which offered when we visited in 2011 an all-you-can-eat buffet in the evening. It was the perfect ending to our days hiking in the park; Paradise Inn’s restaurant, by contrast, offered modest portions at ridiculous prices. Needless to say, we didn’t eat there the last two nights.)
Our night came to a fun conclusion when, standing around the fireplace in the lodge’s large wooden-paneled room, we chatted at length with a couple from Ohio (of all places!) who had been coming to Rainier for a handful of years because they couldn’t get enough of the mountain. The man had actually summited the peak through a guide service twice — you need to have extensive mountaineering experience to do it otherwise — and gave us plenty of tips on hikes to do the next two days.
Armed with extra knowledge from those who’ve hiked the mountain, we walked up to our tiny room hoping for some views — any! — on Friday when we’d lace up our boots regardless of the weather.
EXTRA: The Paradise Inn is quite a place. The large two-wing wooden building is only open from May until early October for a good reason. It’s buried by snow the rest of the year. When open, it hosts hundred of visitors each night. The main floor is made up of the large room you enter into with two fireplaces, multiple booths and tables (from which you can order drinks; we did Friday from our friend Rachel), a gift shop, a café with limited food items, and the restaurant. Walk up a pair of stairs, and you reach the floor with most of the rooms, including ours. Our temporary abode contained two twin beds, a sink, and a small table. It wasn’t a lot of real estate and it got messy when we had to hang wet clothes Friday, but it was enough. We were down the hall from personal showers and a bathroom. It was a nice base camp.
Friday, Sept. 6 — Mount Rainier, 7.5 miles hiked
We woke up Friday to the steady sound of rain falling outside our window. No surprise. The forecast had been pretty straightforward — it was going to rain. All day. Knowing that, we planned a hike that would still be enjoyable without the expansive views of the upper reaches of the mountain. After retrieving our usual breakfast from the car trunk — granola, hemp milk for me — we bundled up under our raincoats and headed out.
As we were lacing up our boots inside the Hyundai and making sandwiches while leaning into the trunk of the car, a couple mountaineering service vehicles pulled up and groups of hikers with their heavy packs got off. Within a couple minutes, they were headed up the trail.
Up. Up. And up.
They only faced 9,000 feet of elevation gain and a few glaciers before the summit. The man we had talked to Thursday night described the summiting experience like this: He said the service he hiked with took three days to reach the top and return to Paradise. The first day was a training day that required 1,000 feet of gain in an hour and learning how to use an ice axe and other mountaineering tools. If you couldn’t keep pushing for the hour, the man said, you weren’t allowed to hike. Day Two was the big day — at 9am, hikers would begin the 4,700-foot ascent to Camp Muir at 10,188 feet, with a goal of reaching the waiting tents around 2 or 3pm. After resting and — maybe — sleeping a bit, they would begin the final 4,300-foot climb up and over glaciers to Mt. Rainier’s summit at 11pm, arriving the following morning. The descent is much quicker, aided by glissading as long as you’re not on crevice-filled glaciers.
Yup. Easy.
So we weren’t going to try anything like that. Still, we were more ambitious than probably 90 percent of the folks staying at the lodge, who were content to stay inside, sipping their lattes and reading their Kindles (there was no Internet access or, for the most part, phone service in and around the lodge).
We began our hike from the big parking lot by the lodge and quickly reached Myrtle Falls after a short jaunt on the paved trail. The rain was falling steadily with temperatures maybe in the low 50s. I was wearing a polypro short sleeve, my AMC long sleeve, my fleece, and my raincoat. I had two pairs of nylon pants on to go with wool socks and my Gortex boots. Better to be prepared.
As we walked along the now-gravelly Skyline Trail, the mist we were mostly shrouded in eased a bit, offering glimpses of the beast of a mountain all around us. Sheer cliffs. Snow-packed glaciers. Roaring creeks. They were all above us. As we walked through lush green pastures filled with pine firs, we gazed around us at all times, aware of the wildlife that might appear any instant.
Bears. Elk. Marmots. Foxes.
They’re all abundant in Mount Rainier National Park.
Minutes later, I spotted maybe a football field’s length from us a big-horned creature I believe to be an elk. With Dad holding my Washington Nationals baseball cap to shield the rain, I pulled out my camera and used the super zoom to snap photos of the majestic animal.
As we made our way north toward Sluiskin Falls, Dad noticed a not-so-pleasant smell. Bear stink. We stopped and looked around. Not only was the odor strong, but the trail was surrounded by huckleberry bushes. We picked a few. They were absolutely delectable, the best berries I’ve ever tasted (yes, even juicier than New Hampshire’s blueberries in the White Mountains).
No bear, though.
We continued on, deciding to hike up to the Paradise Glacier. As we ascended, the trees thinned and the mist-obstructed views of the Paradise Glacier opened up before us. It was amazing to think that we were still less than halfway from the top of this enormous mountain at less than 7,000 feet.
Dad noticed what looked like a coyote about 100 feet to the left of the trail. Before we could get out a camera or my phone in its waterproof case, the skinny creature ran off. After reaching the “End of the Maintained Trail” sign, we went a bit farther, gaining a rocky ridge above a small packed-down ice field and a raging creek, and then turned around.
On the descent, we turned our hike into an 8-mile loop by taking the Lakes Trail to the east of Paradise. We had the trail all to ourselves and with the steady drizzle of the rain — not cold — everything felt incredibly peaceful. This was what John Muir was talking about! We kept our eyes and ears open and alert, gazing at the adjacent green hillsides and down into the valleys for any sign of wildlife — pausing now and again to pick the delicious berries. The only negative: My hands, chilled by the rain, had lost a lot of strength.
I forgot about them minutes later, though, when the wildlife action occurred. First we noticed just off the trail and, for the colorful male, a handful of grouse. The male was entertaining to watch, because he continued to walk on the trail in front of us even as we neared him! Finally, he peeled off into the grass. After deciding to continue on the loop to Reflection Lakes instead of taking the High Lakes Trail back, thus extending our hike, we were moseying along when I saw it.
“There it is!” I exclaimed, pointing about 70 feet to the left of the trail.
Dad knew immediately what I was referring to. It saw us. It hesitated for a second and then made a beeline for the other side of the trail. Seconds later, it was gone. We had never even extracted our cameras.
A BLACK BEAR!
All trip, we had talked about our hopes of seeing one in the wilderness. We had looked left and right from every trail. Dad had slowed down the Hyundai when passing possible bear areas. We had done everything short of dropping food on the trail as bait. We hadn’t seen a bear.
Now we had. Mission accomplished. We high-fived. Who cared if we didn’t have photo evidence.? The experience was all we needed. And we had seen it together.
The rest of the hike was a slog, first down and then up. Dad did his “good deed of the day” — a theme of the trip for us each day — by telling a pair of backpackers about lodging at Paradise. The pair of Southern Californians nearing retirement were hiking the 93-mile Wonderland Trail that circumnavigates the mountain’s lower reaches and has 23,000 feet of elevation gain. They had been hiking and camping for five days and had been poured on and endured dramatic thunderstorms nearly every day. They were ready for a night of warmth.
Dad told them that Paradise likely would have rooms available, considering the weather, and they quickly became attached to the idea. As we hiked up a steep 0.6-mile trail to complete our loop, I worried a bit that the backpackers would do all this work and not get a room. Those thoughts were assuaged when we saw them, an hour later, checking in.
Good deed accomplished!
The rain wasn’t lessening one bit in the afternoon and most of our layers were wet — nice job, raincoats! — so we called it a day hiking. Hey, 8 miles was about our quota for the trip, anyway! We spent the afternoon exploring the visitor’s center, watching a video on Rainier (did you know it’s an active volcano that’s erupted many times?) and planning hikes for our final day when we hoped, fingers crossed, that the rain and clouds would clear.
Regardless of the weather, we knew from Friday’s wildlife-filled track that this mountain has so, so much to offer.
We finished the day having an enjoyable and engaging conversation with a couple from Seattle including John, who was turning 60 Saturday — 19 days ahead of Dad’s 60th. The people we talked to throughout the week were so friendly and engaging and had interesting stories to tell. John, especially, His tales of visiting Ireland, smoking marijuana (it had to be a subject, since we were in one of the “legal” states), and the downfall of good writing — paired with a bottle of wine that we finished from Firesteed, Ore. — kept us entertained until we were ready for bed.
EXTRA: It was only the second time I’ve seen a bear on a trail. I saw one in Shenandoah in 2012, but this one was more exciting because I shared the experience with Dad and we had been so highly anticipating a sighting all trip. We high-fived afterward, we were so excited. Now if only we had gotten a photo…
Saturday, Sept. 7 — Pinnacle Peak, Mount Rainier’s slopes, 9.5 miles hiked
You know those days that you never want to end? Saturday was one of those.
You know those days when you feel like you’ve completely escaped real life, like you’re on another planet that’s a utopia? Saturday was one of those.
Well, at least once I woke up.
Maybe it was the wine or the heat in our room, but I barely slept Friday night. Still, when I awoke at 6:45 and didn’t hear rain, then looked out the window to see clear skies, I forgot about the lack of sleep. I was ready to seize the day.
Dad was gone, having taken his camera and tripod to Reflection Lake for some early morning photography, so I wandered off on my own for the first time all trip, taking one of the plethora of paved trails from the lodge up about a mile to where I had outstanding views, for the first time, of Rainier — the whole mountain. I basked in its snowy brilliance, taking in the wind sweeping off its summit and zooming in with my camera on the many glaciers that dominate its upper peaks. I admired the green, expansive meadows on its lower slopes and, of course, kept an eye out for wildlife. Always.
While I took all this in on the bridge above Myrtle Falls, I began chatting with a skinny man, who looked about my age and wore a Cubs hat. He was a Pacific Crest Trail hiker. Among the more amazing things he told me was that he’d been on the trail for four-plus months and hadn’t seen a bear. This made Dad’s and my encounter the day before even more special.
The man also told me about his ascent of Rainier several years earlier when he had taken on the mountain with a group of mountaineering friends. He mentioned how cool it had been to reach the summit, which is a crater. In other words, it’s completely flat.
That was hard to imagine when staring upward. It was also difficult to come to terms with the fact that the peak was 8,000-plus feet above me. I walked back to the lodge, shaking my head in wonder. The day was young.
After meeting up with Dad and enjoying our cereal breakfast on the porch of the lodge looking south over the Tatoosh range not far from us, we decided to hike one of the mountains we were gazing at, Pinnacle Peak.
The hike listed in the guidebook and illustrated on the map was 1.3 miles to a saddle between Pinnacle (6,562 feet) and Plummer (6,370). The grade was gradual as we ascended switchbacks, and every now and then a view would open up among the fir trees of Rainier and the appealing white clouds surrounding its summit. We were addicted. We couldn’t look away.
(NOTE: We also couldn’t resist the seemingly unlimited number of blueberry and huckleberry bushes that bordered not just the Pinnacle trail but many of the paths around Paradise. The berries tasted better than any I’ve ever picked in the wilderness, including the blueberries in New Hampshire I feast on each summer.)
Despite the distractions, we made decent time and reached the saddle in less than an hour. Then it was decision time. On the way up, we’d been passed by a father-daughter combo who told us about the easier climb up Plummer’s appealing face to an open summit. That sounded pretty nice.
But there was something even more appealing about Pinnacle — danger. And the chance for a second impressive climb during the week, this one capping off what had began at Mount Angeles six days prior. The guidebook had said only climbers should attempt to reach Pinnacle’s spire-like peak, but we thought we could do it. Plus, as Dad later pointed out, books' authors are just trying to cover their asses. They don’t want liability issues.
Not that the hike was easy.
After walking over a pretty well established rock path for maybe a quarter mile and stopping at a severe drop-off — hundreds of feet straight down; don’t worry, I posed for a photo on a sturdy rock —, we came to the part where we had to blaze our own path. Well, kind of. It just so happened that we arrived at the base of the steepest rock climb at the same time as a group from Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Wash., who were actually climbing Pinnacle with ropes and helmets as freshman orientation. When we came to the base of the couple hundred feet straight up, a rope had already been set up but the climbers were behind us. So we had a guide of where to climb but no one (except one of the instructors) above us.
So a very small likelihood of rocks falling down on us.
Dad went first and I followed. The climb wasn’t easy, but there were plenty of hand- and footholds as long as I took my time, breathed, and focused on avoiding the loose gravel that could send a foot slipping and a body careening down the rocks. It took awhile, but Dad and I reached the top of the wall, rested for a minute and chatted with the student instructor, and then made the short final ascent to the top of Pinnacle.
The views were magnificent. In front of us, now shrouded by clouds, was Rainier. If we turned around, however, a line of peaks dotted the southern sky including, hundreds of miles in the distance and clouds, snow-capped Mt. Adams, one of the state’s highest peaks. To the west, we admired Plummer and the sharp, jagged peaks behind it, the view made more surreal by an ever-changing cloud cover.
But we were on the coolest peak of them all. We confirmed this in the afternoon when looking at Pinnacle from the hillside of Rainier and asking ourselves, “How did we reach that pointy-looking summit?”
We lingered for as long as we could afford and enjoyed a small lunch. As soon as the college students arrived, it was time to head down. We could feel the threat of rain, and wet rocks would be a nightmare on the descent. Instead, we each chose our own path and slowly, using all fours, carefully made our way down to safety. And then the saddle. And then the trail and the berries.
What a hike. What a great sense of accomplishment.
I wanted more.
After a break at the lodge, we began our final hike around 3:40 despite less than desirable conditions. Clouds had enveloped Rainier and rain seemed imminent. Actually on the descent of Pinnacle, the views of the mountain were gone, which made us glad we had taken our summit photos on the way up. We wouldn’t see the mountain’s upper reaches again until Sunday morning.
We hiked up the popular Skyline Trail, which begins right by the lodge just like several others. I didn’t like the pavement surface, but as Dad pointed out, it made the trail accessible for many staying at Paradise who might not otherwise have walked in the area. That’s one of the many things the national parks are great about — providing opportunities for outdoor recreation to all Americans regardless of fitness level and hiking experience.
We passed hundreds of hikers as we ascended, including many who appeared to be coming from Camp Muir, 4.6 miles and 4,600 feet above the lodge. We could tell by the shoes they were wearing (featuring micro spikes) and the seriousness of their clothing. Contrast their down coats and rain pants with the clothing of a family we photographed. When the rain picked up after the photos, the woman, clearly without rain gear, asked if we had an extra plastic bag. Dad gave her one and she immediately put it over her hair. Hey, props to her for being resourceful!
The higher we got, the more the crowds thinned, but not the marmots. The furry creatures clearly were not scared by the hundreds of people. One stood out (literally) above the rest. The marmot was maybe 7 feet off the trail and not budging as we approached. I snapped a few photos of it eating grass. Then, as if to say, “Hey, check me out!” it stood on all fours and held the pose for over a minute as I took photo after photo, still unsure of what I was seeing.
That’s one marmot I’ll never forget.
Our goal was to reach the base of the Muir Snowfield, where the really steep climb begins to the base camp. With rain coming down and visibility at maybe 20 feet, we finally came to Pebble Creek, which we believed to be just short of the snow. A second later, two hikers emerged from the fog and asked us if we were on the trail. They looked a bit frazzled and were worried they’d gotten off track. We pointed to the end of the maintained trail we’d just reached, achieving our good deed of the day.
Then we walked over some rocks and saw snow. The beginning of the snowfield! I was wearing my trail running shoes, which were far from conducive to steep snow hiking, so I didn’t go far. But we had gotten to 7,300 feet, our high point of the trip, and were less than 2.7 miles from the camp.
As we were preparing to head back south, a group of hikers came through the fog, sliding on their butts down the final stretch of the snowfield. One woman asked if they had reached the end of the snow, and when we confirmed, she burst at the seams with joy. Another woman, her poles waving wildly behind her and less than balanced on the wet rocks, exclaimed, “If I can do this, anyone can!”
That right there was enough. No, we hadn’t made the hike to Camp Muir. But we surely could have. And our Pinnacle climb seemed just as good of an achievement.
The way down the mountain was one of those walks where the steps were slow and the gazes, left and right, up and down, were frequent. We both knew our grand adventure was coming to an end. We were going to delay it as much as possible. We were also treated to a beautiful spectacle as we descended the Golden Gate trail:
The Tatoosh range, including Pinnacle, had emerged from the clouds and with the sunlight waning, shone brilliantly in the late-evening sky. The clouds, as they’d done all week, shifted by the second, creating views of the mountains sticking out of the clouds, being surrounded by them, being dissected by them, you name it.
The day had to end, but the memories from this trip won’t. From the Olympics, to the rainforest, to the beach, to the slopes of Mount Rainier, Operation Hike Washington was an experience, from start to finish, that made me realize why life’s so full of beautiful things.
Especially the West.
And especially when marmots are present.
Love and peace,
— Jake
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