Day 12, July 30: Snow, Wild Flowers, and the Pacific Ocean

Day 12, July 30: Snow, Wild Flowers, and the Pacific Ocean

I began the day early, ready for a challenging hike at Mount Rainier before taking off for the Oregon coast. I was at the trail head by 8 a.m., armed with a map, the GPS, and lots of energy. Taking it easy the past few days was one of the smartest things I have done.

The hike began at Paradise Lodge and was about six miles long. It climbed 1700 feet, all of which was in the first two miles. So it began steep and just kept going up. The beginning of the trail was paved, and I wondered if it really would meet the “challenging” and “difficult” ratings it listed. The short answer to that question is yes. It deserves the difficult rating.

Before long, winded already from the steep hike, I came upon colorful meadows of wildflowers. I hate to use the cliché, but the fields were blanketed in color. Everywhere I looked, I saw beauty (when I wasn’t panting from the climb). It wasn’t too long that I began to see more snow. There were snow fields covering what wasn’t covered with flowers. I admired the snow – it wasn’t too cold and I was comfortable in a long sleeved thin shirt.

I admired it that is until I had to cross the first big snowfield. This first one was probably the most frightening of all of the ones I crossed. It was a bit icy, and the small path we had to cross sat atop a slop that went down and down and down. I couldn’t even begin to judge what would happen if I’d slipped. I was really happy I had my trekking poles, and I could have used crampons. I looked back, after crossing it, and saw a woman down on her hands and knees navigating it. As I was turned back, looking at her and a group of young girls that were obviously part of a team of some sort struggle up the trail, I noticed a marmot lounging on a rock, and he also seemed to be watching the hikers. I couldn’t help but decide he was enjoying watching us humans struggle up the path.

Before long, I was above the tree line, hiking on rocks and snow. Looking out across the mountain, I could see Mount Rainier and in the distance, Mount Saint Helen’s. The clouds had settled in the time I had taken to make the climb, and those peaks erupted from the heavy cloud cover.

At the apex of the climb, I was at 7100 feet. As I started back down the mountain, I breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the steep climb was over. But the real work really began then. The trail was often covered with snow, and the way to follow was marked by orange flags sticking up. A few times, I simply sat down and slid down the snow field to avoid the struggle of staying upright. I believe more than two miles of that downhill hike was covered by snow.

I was thinking how I wished for less snow (actually, I think I was thinking something like “I wish this f---king snow would stop”) and encountered three men hiking up with ski boots on and carrying skis on their backs. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes, and they said they’d be able to ski down quite a large portion of the mountain. I asked if it wasn’t difficult to hike in ski boots, and they assured me it was, but it was worth it for them. They were almost giddy with the prospect of skiing at the end of July.

The hike was one of the most memorable ones I’ve ever taken, both for the degree of difficulty and the variety of scenery. The beauty of the flowers, the snow fields with pine trees sprouting from them looking like Christmas cards, the barren, rocky terrain above the tree line, and the views of the mountains above a thick floor of clouds – this is why I do what I do. And the ability to successfully attempt something that is difficult and challenging.

The reaction I often get from the people I run into on these hikes is interesting. I’m often told how brave I am to be making these hikes, and this journey, on my own. I don’t feel that at all. It doesn’t feel like bravery, it simply seems like something I want to do. Sometimes it feels like foolishness – when I’m lonely or tired of setting up a tent every night – but it never feels like bravery. It feels good to accomplish the things I’m accomplishing, but that’s something personal and private in many ways. I guess these comments stem from the fact that I’m a woman, and they don’t resonate with me as I’ve never really felt any constraints on doing things because I’m a woman.  I can’t help but wonder if these observations and comments would be made of a man traveling and hiking alone. I’m sure not.

I was finished with the hike by noon, and immediately headed for the Oregon coast. I reached the coast in mid-afternoon and my campsite at South Beach State Park, just south of Newport, Oregon, by 7:30. The ocean is as moving as it always is to me; I stopped and enjoyed it for a while before resuming the drive to the campsite.

I have two days till I have to be in Yosemite for my backpacking trip, so I think I’ll take my time tomorrow heading down the coast until it’s time to cut in to Crater Lake. I love this coast so much, and I hope to find the restaurant where Jesse and I ate last summer. They had some of the best calamari and clams I’ve ever had. I might have to have a little fresh crab too – they must be in season as I keep seeing signs touting, “Fresh crab today.” Hopefully, there will be fresh crab tomorrow too . . .