“On a clear summer or crisp fall day, this might be the finest day hike in Washington,” the trail guide said. (Day Hike! Mount Rainier by Ron C Judd with Seabury Blair, Jr.) I would have to agree.
My husband and I set off on September 4, as the morning sunshine lit up the white fuzzy heads of Western anemones. Meadows all along the route held the remnants of what must have been a riot of color just two or three weeks before. Now a few asters, some lupine, and an occasional monkey flower by a stream remained to hint at summer’s beauty. Dwarf mountain ash held bright orange fruits, and huckleberry plants hid sweet, blue treasures under their leaves. We munched as we walked.
On a larger scale, the views were magnificent. Jagged rocky peaks surrounded us, a few with patches of snow still accenting their slopes. Blue mountain tarns reflected stately fir trees and white clouds. Peace descended upon us in the silence, broken only by the caws of a crow, the chipping of juncos in the trees, and the hushed murmur of a cool breeze.
An uphill climb brought us face to face with Mt. Rainier itself. Sadly, clouds veiled its peak, and we could only glimpse the white skirts of snow on the lower section. We stopped to rest on a rocky area, where a friendly chipmunk—or perhaps a ground squirrel—agreed to pose for me.
Then on back down, past Tipsoo Lake, an opal set in an emerald field. Over one more ridge, then down to the truck, with enough huckleberries in my pack for a lovely pancake breakfast.
“How can people see this beauty and say there is no God?” my husband wondered. I couldn’t answer.
Sparrow Thoughts 
Oh, I just love your blog Susan. And these pictures are beautiful.
Thank you, Valorie! I’m so glad you enjoy it. Mt. Rainier is a gorgeous place; it’s easy to get good pictures of it. In a few days I plan to post about another hike we took there with equally wonderful views. 🙂
I don’t understand your husband’s question. It makes no sense.
I did this hike around this time last year, with a couple of friends. The fog was coming in, it looked like a misty waterfall coming over the pass, but most of our hike was in the sun. Rainier was partly obscured, which was beautiful and slightly eerie at the same time. At Tipsoo Lake, it was like being inside a cloud, with dew hanging onto the remaining flowers. Beauty.
Have you done the Sourdough Gap hike? You start at the same trailhead, but hike north at the outset, up past Sheep Lake, and I guess you follow the trail as far as you like, then turn back.
You have real mountains. We don’t. I don’t know whether to envy you, but it must make some sort of difference to the way we each see the world.
I haven’t done the Sourdough Gap hike. Perhaps another time. Naches Peak Loop is neat, and the way the mist came in when you were there sounds mysteriously beautiful. Rainier is quite a place!
Ken, I’m sorry you don’t have real mountains. I have wondered how the landscape where people grow up affects the way they see the world. I have even thought about writing a short story or book about it. Trouble is, I’m not quite sure what that effect is.
I think geography is fundamental. I heard a Canadian say, “My country is the winter”. There is a clear difference between American and Australian fiction. The American story ends, WE WON. The Australian story ends, we survived. Americans went into their continent and discovered the Ohio valley, the Mississippi and the great plains. Australians went in and discovered a whole bunch of deserts and arid lands. Abundance produces individualism. Scarcity produces mateship. (I note that the word mateship is not even in my American-based spelling dictionary.)
Your story about the little red hen assumes that the red hen can do everything themselves and does not need others.
Normal countries have their main buildings up on hills where they can see and be seen. You may not be aware that the Australian federal parliament building was set inside a hill, underground.
There is a dance called the stomp, which mainly involves stamping the earth with alternate feet. Some think this was invented in Australia, and based on indigenous dances. It is seen to be about connecting with the earth itself.
What are “real mountains” anyway? Is it just that they are high?
Interesting ideas, Ken. Especially about individualism being produced by abundance, mateship by scarcity. Of course, American stories/legends tend to say it was hardship and scarcity that produced individualism–the strong surviving against all odds. But then legends are like that, not always based on fact.
I didn’t know that about the Australian federal parliament building. Interesting!
Do you have any suggestions for Australian stories that illustrate what you say? I don’t think I’ve read much Australian literature and would like to check some out, assuming I can find it in a library near me…
Thanks for your comments. I always enjoy hearing your perspective.
As for mountains, yes, I think it is just because they are high. Even in the US, people disagree over mountains. Those in the Midwest have big hills they call mountains, but those of us who live near “real” mountains tend to scoff a bit over their mountains. Not very nice of us, I suppose…
Susan