When the mornings have a hint of crispness and kids are back in school (or at least virtually, these days), I get an itch that needs scratching: to hike the Wonderland Trail. Park rangers built the original 130-mile necklace of beauty and wonder that encircles Mount Rainier over 100 years ago to gain access to all parts of the park. Poaching, logging, arson, and other dirty deeds were common, and a ranger’s primary responsibility was to preserve and protect the wilderness.
In 1915, the Mountaineers, a Seattle/Tacoma-based group of outdoor adventurers, became the first group to circumambulate the mountain. In the irrepressible style of the day, the party of 90-plus—supported by a pack train of supply horses—took 15 days to complete their expedition. A “side trip” of 57 members ascended from Glacier Basin to Columbia Crest, the mountain’s highest point.
These days, the reconfigured 93-mile Wonderland Trail ranks as one of the most spectacular hikes in North America, consistently placing it near the top of lists like “Bucket List Backpacking Trips Everyone Should Do.” Most hikers take eight to twelve days to thru-hike the entire trail. On the other end of the spectrum, in recent years the trail has become a Grand Prize among trail runners. Superhuman specimens composed of little more than lung and ligament, they smile or wave as they whiz past, seeking the FKT, aka the fastest known time. In August this year, Coloradan Dylan Bowman set a new Wonderland Trail record, finishing in 16:58:41—that’s 93 miles in LESS THAN 17 HOURS. Just five days later, Portland’s Tyler Green shaved 18 minutes off Bowman’s freshly set record, averaging nearly 5.5 miles per hour on a challenging trail that boasts 23,000 feet of vertical gain. Lungs and ligaments, indeed.
As we crested the Gap at 6,800 feet, the trail’s highest point, our talk turned to wolverines, recently spotted in the park after a hundred year’s absence. Wolverines are the largest members of the weasel family and with a scientific name that’s Latin for “glutton,” (Gulo gulo), their reputations are legendary. Stocky, muscular and able to take prey much larger than themselves, these backcountry badasses cover hundreds of miles in search of their next meal. They subsist largely on carrion in winter and early spring, when they cache and freeze carcasses in the snow. Returning to the cache, their powerful jaws shatter large bones to access the marrow; they’ve been known to stand up to black or brown bears to protect a feeding site. In summer and fall, wolverines prey mostly on small and medium-sized animals—ground squirrels and marmots beware! Doug Chadwick’s Wolverine Way, written over multiple seasons of assisting researchers at Glacier National Park, is the ultimate window into all things wolverine.
Above Panhandle Gap en route to Ohanapecosh Park, I commented that the area was perfect wolverine habitat with high alpine areas with rocky cliffs, scree slopes and lingering snow patches. Within ten seconds of my utterance—and I swear this upon a stack of field guides—a mother wolverine and her two kits scampered toward us down a snow patch! We were dumbstruck at our good fortune; I was so excited that I got my “sticks stuck in my spokes” and tripped myself with my trekking poles. We waited for a second glance, but the wolverines stayed put under the lip of the patch. Don’t ever poke your head into a wolverine hidey-hole!
The trail wound to the top of the snow patch where we took photos, made notes, and recounted our sighting. I felt like we’d already had a full day, and it was only 8:30 a.m. Once we regained our senses, we resumed our hike toward Box Canyon.
At Indian Bar, we stepped off the trail to allow an oncoming hiker to pass. As he went by he said, “I think I know you. Didn’t you write a book about Mount Rainier?” Flabbergasted for the second time in an hour, I removed my mask and introduced myself. “How do we know each other,” I asked. “I work on the park’s revegetation crew,” he said, “and we’ve met before. In fact, I just said good-bye to my crewmates, headed in the direction you’re going.” After exchanging pleasantries with Patrick (I recognized him after he de-masked), Dimitri and I set off in high gear to catch the others, one a former Evergreen/Mount Rainier intern and the other an intern supervisor. When we finally caught them, wolverines were the main topic.
We hiked on to Box Canyon on a pink cloud, oblivious of the fatigue of a long day and reveling in the wild serendipity of a wolverine sighting. We found Dimitri’s car (that he’d left two days previously), picked up mine at Fryingpan Creek, and made tracks to Enumclaw to tell our tales to Hummer. I could barely wait to report the sighting to park scientists and wolverine researchers, who eagerly track and chart all sightings. For all of the careful planning and research to see wildlife, you just can’t beat some good old-fashioned Dumb Luck. May you find some on your next hike.
In news relating to Tahoma and Its People, an unexpected email arrived last week. As part of its marketing support for its titles, Washington State University Press encourages authors to enter their work in book award competitions. What’s cooler than a cash prize and a foil sticker on a book’s cover that says “Winner, XYZ Book Award?”
With low expectations, I entered Tahoma in the National Outdoor Book Awards and Banff Mountain 
Book Awards competitions. Each is a long-standing program that honors the year’s best writing in environmental and outdoor titles. When I received an email from Banff Mountain that began with the words “Thank you for entering this year’s…,” I figured this was my “thanks-for-entering-but-we-get-a-ton-of-great-entries-each-year-and-yours-was-not-among-those-selected” rejection email. I dutifully read the first paragraph—yes, thanks for entering and yes, we get loads of entries. Then I read the second paragraph: “I’m pleased to say that Tahoma and Its People: A Natural History of Mount Rainier National Park is a finalist. Congratulations!” A finalist—from over 130 entries—what a shocker!
In a non-COVID year, finalists (there are three in the Mountain Environment and Natural History category) travel to Banff, Alberta for the awards ceremony. This year of course, the November 5th ceremony will be online. I’ll send out the link, and we’ll see what happens! In the meantime, keep your boots dry and your spirits high.