The Elusive Mount Ranier

On our last evening in Seattle, we walked two blocks from our vacation rental to Kerry Park, a popular gathering place for viewing the Seattle skyline. We had walked there previously, but the sky had never been clear enough to see beyond downtown, or, more specifically, to be able to see Mount Ranier looming in the distance. But on that evening, there she was, Mount Ranier, clear as could be with her head in the clouds.

We were setting off the next day to spend two nights at Mount Ranier National Park. I imagined our drive down, catching glimpses of this huge mountain as we moved closer and closer to it. As is often the case in the Pacific Northwest, the morning we left Seattle was rainy and foggy, so there were no mountain sightings enroute.

Arriving in the park, we drove 25 minutes from the Longmire area, where we were staying in the generically-named National Park Inn, to the popular Paradise area, which is closer to the summit. Our aim was to take a ranger-led ‘color’ hike to see wildflowers and variously colored greenery along the trail. At hike time, we stood in wind and rain as the ranger contemplated canceling, and then, just as we figured the hike was a no-go, the rain eased and we were simply in a cloud. Ten minutes later and on the trail, our ranger looked off in the distance and broke into a grin. “Look!” she said, pointing in the direction of the mountain. She seemed as surprised as we were to see that the clouds had parted, revealing a sudden, dramatic appearance of the summit. Although the rest of the day was sunny and beautiful, we enjoyed only intermittent summit views on a hike to Myrtle Falls and later, as we sat on the porch of The National Park Inn enjoying the view of the peak over a late afternoon glass of wine.

The next day the area was completely enclosed in fog. “No problem,” I said to John, “by the afternoon it will have burned off.” We stopped by the Longmire ranger station for maps and hiking recommendations. I asked the ranger what time he thought the mountain would appear which was, admittedly, a stupid question. He was unfazed by this dumb question, which I’m positive he gets all the time. He leaned back in his chair and said, “I would say it will appear at around 2:36.”

John and I went about our day, first taking on part of the ambitious Rampart Ridge trail, which goes up a mountain through beautiful old growth forest, then going on to the easier Trail of the Shadows, which tells the history of the Longmire family who settled the area around the time of the Civil War. The Longmire Cabin, which is on the trail, was built in 1888. A hotel was later built to house visitors arriving for the mineral springs which were believed to have healing properties. James Longmire’s former homestead, lodging, and mineral springs resort served from 1916 as park headquarters and is currently the ranger station for the Longmire area.

Later on, we drove to Christine Falls, which is framed by a bridge that reminds me of Frederick Law Olmstead bridges in the Northeast, then to Narada Falls, both of which are short, low effort/high payoff hikes.

At around 2:35 I checked my watch, looked to the sky, saw the sun begin to break through, and then — could it be? A glimpse of the mountain appeared, but just as quickly, disappeared back into mist. The ranger’s estimation had been correct, but it was just a tease. For the remainder of the day, skies were sunny, but the peak of the mountain stayed stubbornly in its cloudy shroud.

Mount Ranier, as we learned, has her head in the clouds quite a bit of the time and sightings are rare and often fleeting. But there is really nothing like the sweetness of being up close to get that occasional peek at the peak.