In Seattle, we often ask each other, “Is the mountain out?” If the answer is yes, we know it will be a picture-perfect postcard day. If not, we know we are in store for more gloomy weather.  

Throughout much of the fall and winter, the answer is almost always a resounding, “no.” Then, sort of like clockwork, somewhere in the middle of April, the mountain emerges from her slumber. You will find yourself crossing the West Seattle Bridge, driving south on Interstate 5, or down Rainier Avenue, and you catch sight of Mount Rainier. Standing tall and strong like a lighthouse, it beckons you to come and see.  

On my first trip to Mount Rainier National Park, I wanted to avoid crowded spots like Paradise and Sunrise. There is nothing wrong with choosing to visit these locations. Everyone should at some point, but be warned. They are popular, and parking is a battle won by travelers who are more patient than me.  

Instead, I hoped to find a decent trail with spectacular and awe-inspiring views of the mountain far from the crowds. Writing this more than a decade after my first visit, I find it impossible to remember the name of the trail we hiked. I do remember driving down a forest service road for 20 to 30 minutes, with clouds of dust and rock filling the air behind my car. We drove so far that my friend and I started to think we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.  

When we arrived at an empty parking lot, the worried moments melted away. This was the solitude I needed. From the safety of the parking lot, we traced the zigzags of the trail down to a rushing river. From far above, it looked like a few miles of switchbacks before we could soak our feet in freezing water.  

With packs snapped into place, I locked the car and we walked away. For an hour or so, we hiked downhill. Quickly, we settled into the routine of heading in one direction, turning, switching, and then heading the other direction. For an hour, we repeated this pattern. Then, we finally poked through the trees and stepped out onto a small beach next to the river.  

For another hour, we snacked, played in the water, and relaxed. Sitting there in the moment, I looked upstream. With wide eyes, I soaked up the grand landscape before me and the might of Mount Rainier. Then and there, something changed in me. A seed was planted. I didn’t want to just hike these trails. I wanted to document my experiences. I wanted to share them with the world in hopes of inspiring people to get outside and share in the splendor of nature. Thinking of the possibilities, I smiled at the prospect of this new creative outlet.  

Following no trace rules, we cleaned up our makeshift camp, snapped our packs back into place, and began the arduous journey back up to my car. The return journey took twice as long and required more breaks. Then and there, I learned a valuable lesson about myself. I prefer to begin a journey by hiking up a trail much more than ending that way.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan