Spring Opening and Old Friends

Sometime around Memorial Day, depending on the snowpack, Mount Rainier’s staff undertakes the monumental task known as Spring Opening. Snowplows chug along, clearing roads. Workers strain under the weight of heavy, wet snow, shoveling walkways and campsites. Trail crews fire up chainsaws, clearing downfall and replacing foot logs washed out by winter’s high water. Rangers dust off exhibits and prepare for summer’s first visitors. It’s a labor-heavy process that takes weeks, but its completion signals the official start of the mountain’s summer season.

My version of spring opening is getting back to some of my favorite spots that have lain under snow for six months or more. Hiking the still-closed Mowich Lake road, the sight of old friends brings great joy. The first to greet me is bear grass, an early-blooming member of the lily family. The stunning beauty of its clusters of creamy white flowers on a three-foot stalk grabs attention, but its leaves held the greatest value to native people. Women harvested the long and tough, narrow, grass-like leaves for processing and later use as imbrication in basket weaving. These decorative patterns are a trademark of the Coast Salish baskets. Not found in the lower elevations of Puget Sound country, bear grass was one of many mid-elevation resources that for generations drew people to the mountain each summer.

Further on, vast patches of avalanche lily paint the ground in yellows, whites, and vivid greens. These ephemeral beauties, harbingers of summer, often sprout and bloom through the edges of snowbanks long before other perennials begin their annual cycle. Bears savor the bulbs, digging them out with their claws. People collected and ate the corms, the enlarged stem just below the ground.

Trucking down the Grindstone Trail after a rare car-free visit to Mowich Lake, I came upon a group of well-equipped backpackers, their accent telling me, “We’re not from around here.” The three Brits excitedly explained that this was their first and only Mount Rainier backpacking trip, as they would fly home to England in two days. Their one-night stand at the walk-in campground would be cool and foggy, but I assured them that they’d have the lake to themselves. Without knowing it, they were enjoying their very own spring opening!

Two days later, hiking buddy (and my webmaster) Bill Gesler and I hedged our bets against a none-too-promising weather forecast to hike the Wonderland Trail from the White River Campground to the still-closed Sunrise area. We set out under partly cloudy skies that soon gave way to lowering, moisture-laden clouds. Partway up, the forecast delivered: light rain at first, followed by scattered hail. The distant thunder drew nearer and the hail increased in size, volume, and force. We donned our rain jackets for protection as much as to keep dry as the pea-sized hail pelted us without mercy. Hopping about like popping corn, it soon covered the ground in a surreal “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” scene—in June. When I could count only three “Mississippis” between lightning bolt and thunderclap—the lightning now little more than a half-mile away—we figured that turning back for the car was our smartest move. We shared a quick snack and surveyed the often-challenging waterfalls crossing on the upper section of trail. A flimsy-looking crossing of branches and small logs spanned the rushing torrent. Our fate sealed, we waded back down the trail through rivulets of hail turned runoff.

In a sobering postscript, I learned two days later that during the same weather event on the south side of the mountain, a hiker had perished on a training hike to Pebble Creek. Fatalities occur year-round at Mount Rainier, and the impact extends far beyond the family and friends of the fallen. Park rangers and other staff assist in search and rescue operations, and the mountain’s often-grim truths take their toll. For those whose passion lies here, the message is all too frequent and abundantly clear: There are multiple hazards in this game, and there is no substitute for good judgment and prudent decisions.