And Then the Hike Itself

     Last week I did the much anticipated two-night backpacking trip on the Mother Mountain Loop at Mt. Rainier National Park with my son, Ela, and his friends Steve, Micala, and Lucius. My two previous posts expressed my anxiety about being able to do it, so now I'm obligated to tell you how I did.

    I did great. 

Photo by Lucius Williams

    And it was a great trip.

    The beginning was easy—car camping at Mowich Lake, with a good dinner of non-freeze-dried food. I swam in the lake, and, later, we all took a walk along the shore, where Ela played his bamboo flute,

Ela playing his flute high on the mountain.
Photo by Lucius Williams

sending that native-American sound meandering around the rock cliffs and floating over the broad expanse of the sunset-red lake.

    The next morning I was up at 6:00 for another swim. In the early-morning light I had that whole big beautiful lake to myself.

Photo by Lucius Williams

      With an eleven-mile hike ahead of us, to Ipsut Campground, we were on the trail by 8:30. 

     For the first few miles the trail humped its way, now gently, now steeply, through beautiful big-tree forests. Undergrowth was lush and the waterfalls jaw-droppingly beautiful. At the first waterfall we marveled at the long, thick ribbon of water, sunlit at its top, a hundred feet or more above us. But that was only prelude to the sight awaiting the nerves-of-steel hiker who, with all caution, crossed the two thin logs spanning the gushing river to the opposite shore,

A nerves-of-steel river crossing
       Photo by Diana Coogle

where the full waterfall came into view—the long free-fall before the water hit the rocks and spread out in a veil before coalescing into a river again. 

Micala and me at the waterfall Photo by Ela Lamblin

    At each river or creek crossing, usually on a flat-cut log with a pole railing on one side,

Micala on bridge            Photo by Lucius Williams

I stopped to admire—worship—the fullness of the water, streaming, cascading, gushing through greenery and rock. Yet in the back of my mind I knew that that force and gush of water that I loved to see was coming from the too-sudden, too-fast melt of Mt. Rainier's precious glaciers. 

    One bridge over a surging, silt-filled glacial river was especially daunting, as the water splashed over the bridge at the far end and boulders bumbled against each other in the tumbling current under the bridge.

Photo by Lucius Williams

    Whenever we emerged from the forest or rounded a curve in the trail, the glaciated bulk of Mt. Rainier, magnified by closeness, came into view—its rounded gray top, its thick white glaciers, its rocky sides. Always awesome.

Front to back: Me, Micala, Steve, Ela
Photo by Lucius Williams

    Around midday we emerged onto the high altitudes of Spray Park, a long series of flower-filled meadows. If I had loved the waterfalls, I loved no less the purple-red--yellow-and-white meadows

Photo by Lucius Williams

stretching through the rocks to the near edge of the world, beyond which were the Cascade peaks—Glacier Peak and Mt. Baker and all the lesser mountains in between. And, unforgettably, even when it was hidden over our shoulders by the nearer mounds, Mt. Rainier.

    The descent was long and beautiful with meadows,

Front to back: Me, Micala, Ela, admiring a flower
Photo by Lucius Williams

creek crossings, rocks, and trees. After taking off my boots to cross a creek, I walked barefooted for a mile or so on duff-soft ground. When the trail turned rocky again, I put my boots back on and, immediately around the bend, came upon Ela, Steve, Micala, and Lucius sprawled on the trail, leaning against packs, feet up, taking a good long rest. I was glad enough to join them. After that, for the rest of the way down the interminably descending trail, I never fell behind.

Front to back: Steve, me Micala, Ela, awed by a waterfall
                         Photo by Lucius Williams

   When we finally got to Ipsut Campground, eleven miles from Mowich Lake, I found a spot on the river where the water was less silty and just deep enough for me to sit in, then lie on my back, then turn over onto my stomach, bathing my entire hot-and-sweaty body. The campground was at the end of a road, now closed but still passable by bicycle, so two other friends, Ann and Todd, had bicycled in to join us for the night, bringing beer and wine with them.

    The next morning the prospect of the intimidatingly steep Ipsut Pass loomed ahead of us. Nonetheless (or maybe therefore), breakfast was leisurely, but I was anxious to get started, so Ann, Micala, and I headed out while Ela, Steve, Lucius, and Todd were still talking around the breakfast table. 

    Up through the forest, always up, but not steeply. I was hiking well. Many creek crossings. More waterfalls. After a couple of miles, Ann turned back; she and Todd had to bicycle back down the road. Micala and I continued up, mile after mile. 

   And then we were out of the forest, and the rock side of a mountain loomed ahead of us, vegetation dropping from it like a waterfall. The up turned steep. Steep and hot. We stopped in the shade of a solitary tree for water. Then on up, steep and hot. Another tree, another swig of water. Then on up. And then, suddenly, two more switchbacks and we were on the pass. High-five!

    I don't want to say it was easy, because it wasn't really easy, but what I want to say is that I did it without difficulty. All that training of the past two weeks—Ipsut Pass was a cinch. Micala and I sat on the pass for a long time, like a congratulatory committee for hikers as they came up. Ela and Steve came charging up, throwing sweat and beaming with the exultation of exertion. Ela perched on a high rock and played his ocarina, to the delight of hikers coming up. ("I knew the top wasn't far when I heard that music.") 

    After a bit Steve went back down the pass to check on Lucius. Pretty soon Steve came huffing back up the pass, fast, just for the fun of it. Lucius was fine. He would be here after a while. He's a photographer and was carrying heavy camera equipment and stopping frequently to take pictures.

Lucius Williams            Photo by Ela Lamblin

    Ela and Steve waited for Lucius, but I was ready for a swim, so Micala and I headed down the trail to Mowich Lake, where I slipped into the cold blue water for a good long swim under the snowy bulk of Mt. Rainier.

Coming in after a swim in Mowich Lake, facing Mt. Rainier 
       Photo by Lucius Williams

Micala explored the trails a bit. Ela, Steve, and Lucius soon arrived and sat on a log, dangling their feet in the water. 

    Finally it was time to load packs in the car and go home. Hugs and good-byes all around, promises to do another trip together. 

    "You kick ass," Steve told me, as we parted. 

    "Well, I'm no Tara," I said modestly—Tara, the ultra-runner who had organized this trip and then was unable to come. Steve, Micala, and Ela always say, "Tara kicks ass."

    Steve wouldn't let his praise be deflected. "You're who Tara wants to be when she's your age," he said. 

Mt. Rainier, on the Mother Mountain Loop.     Photo by Lucius Williams