Soggy Wonderland Trail Is Still a Hiker’s Delight

Posted

“You shouldn’t have trouble getting a permit,” the bedraggled hiker told us at the ranger station Thursday morning. “Lots of people are quitting.”

If he was trying to give us optimism, the statement also confirmed what we had feared: soggy conditions were making life on the Wonderland Trail a miserable experience. As we waited for the wilderness center to open, more hikers walked up, spreading their sopping wet gear on the porch to dry out, faces grim under the dripping hoods of their rain jackets. 

Nearly a year after we finished our thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail, my girlfriend Mandy and I were about to set out on the Wonderland, a 93-mile trail that makes a jittery circle around the slopes of Mount Rainier. We’d been looking forward to this trek all summer, constantly reminding each other that September would bring us five days back in the wilderness, back on foot, away from the pressures and distractions that had defined life since the PCT. 

Friday morning, we set out, permit in hand. The trees and ferns were still dripping with moisture, but the morning sun broke though in golden radiance as we crossed the footbridge over the White River. We started our hike on the northeast side of the mountain, hiking clockwise to get us back to Longmire by Saturday afternoon. That’s where we left Mandy’s car, so I could quickly shuttle into Ashford and, well, file this story. Even the backcountry is no escape from newspaper deadlines. 

People who have hiked the Wonderland usually describe a blissful experience — laying out in the sunshine in meadows filled with wildflowers, swimming in alpine lakes. Most people hike the trail in August, taking as many as 10 days. Our circumstances, though, conspired to give us a five-day window in mid-September, where temperatures in the 40s and an unbroken forecast of rain awaited. 

After getting our permits Thursday, we went for a trail run on the PCT north of Chinook Pass, a chance to stretch our legs and see a stretch of trail we’d missed due to wildfires last year. After a splattering of rain caught us on the way down, we drove to Packwood to warm up with coffee at the Mountain Goat and grab a beer at the Blue Spruce. If we got soaked again the next day, we knew we’d have nothing but our tent and the food in our packs for comfort. 

As we made our way through the damp, quiet forest on Friday, the first climb prompted us to shed our jackets as sweat started soaking into our base layers. After a steady rise through the trees, the landscape opened up, showing off sunny slopes around us and the brilliant snowy peak of Rainier shrouded in clouds. 

We hiked through Summerland, one of the trail’s most popular campsites, and continued up a long set of log stairs that marked our way through an ascending meadow. By now, we were beneath towering pinnacles of exposed rock, lined with tiny white threads from the waterfalls making their way down from on high. On the opposite slope, trees gave way to a tawny carpet, autumn colors on display near the top. 

The trail moved from meadow to rocks, our path through the talus marked with cairns. A marmot stood proudly atop a boulder to greet us, and the squeals of others rang out as we hiked through their territory. A small snow-fed lake splashed the gray and brown landscape with an aquamarine vibrancy. 

Climbing still, we found a dusting of fresh snow coating the rock, the trail a squishy wet red clay that coated our shoes. A switchback took us to the top of Panhandle Gap, where the wind was blowing wet fog from the opposite direction. We threw on jackets and gloves before crossing over to the soggy side of the slope. 

Mists blew around and below us as we navigated the ridgeline, unseen marmots still calling out our arrival. In the distance, blue sky and sun poked through some small holes in the clouds. Finally, as we made our way onto a glacial moraine, grassy slopes splotched with fall reds and oranges, the skies cleared again. 



We savored the long descent down to Indian Bar, where we found an empty cabin to take lunch where the trail crosses the Ohanapecosh River. Stomachs full, we rose to the best views yet as we regained elevation. Our climb brought us to a grassy bald, where we watched moving clouds give away the summit of Rainier. In every direction, jagged spires of rock made dramatic thrusts into the sky. Mount Adams and the Goat Rocks partially emerged beneath pillowy covers in the distance. 

But the epic backdrop had an equal match in the foreground. The nearby slopes were awash in amber and crimson, subtle beauty every bit the equal of the pastel pop of summer wildflowers. Moving clouds drifted in and out, lending their personality to the scene. Above the valley, an eagle or hawk wheeled, glinting in a sunbeam, circled into the updrafts, then glided the distance it had taken us all day to hike. 

For miles, we stayed atop the ridgeline, following the spine of the mountains up and down, savoring views in all directions. Finally, we descended back into the woods, knocking out a few downhill miles before our campsite. After 18 miles of building appetites, we made an early dinner. For all our worries about the rain and cold, the conditions had only added to the beauty, had given us a new way of seeing this classic route. We made our way into our tent right before the pitter patter of raindrops began to hit the fly. 

Saturday morning came bright and crisp, shafts of sunlight reaching into the deep, condensation-saturated woods where we were camped. We were refreshed after 10 hours of slumber, but Mandy’s sniffles had worsened from the day before and I had a sore throat that portended a cold. Oh well. Nothing to do but keep hiking.

After the in-your-face majesty of the day before, we spent the morning hiking in the stillness of the deep forest, ancient trees surrounded by ferns and moss. Our soft footsteps on the trail’s needle beds made a metronome to backdrop our chatter. Mandy, who spent the summer working for the Washington Conservation Corps, pointed out various plant species, describing the conditions that allow them to thrive and how they interact with other plants. Even though we were fast approaching the road — and the tourists that clog the trails near every parking lot — for awhile it felt like we had the forest to ourselves.

The trail hit Stevens Canyon Road, then made a brief jog above the pavement to cross a footbridge over the canyon. The detour was worth it, putting us 115 over the Cowlitz River as the sheer, narrow rock fell away to the raging water below. For several miles, the trail hugged Stevens Creek as we made our way into the canyon. The road receded, then disappeared above the hilltops high above us.

Down near the creek, we meandered along its rocky banks, bumping into day hikers and backpackers. The walls of the canyon soared up on either side, ablaze in bright reds from the maples and other growth. Time and again, we were waylaid by blueberries and huckleberries that beckoned us to stop, plump and still glistening with morning dew. A pika scurried about as we stopped for a snack. Giant slabs of rock were draped with thick carpets of moss.

Our path took us across numerous creeks and tributaries, most spanned with a log cut flat for a hiker bridge. Some of the waterways took on a milky hue, evidence of the glacier flour from their icy origins. Away from the soaring vistas of the high elevations, valley hiking gave us new surroundings to take in, as half a dozen waterfalls announced their presence with a roar before coming into view. 

As the trail criss-crossed the road running along the southern end of the park, we ran into families out for a hike and fellow Wonderland hikers heading in both directions. Clouds began to cover the sky at Reflection Lakes, though lofty spires were still visible above and the water still showed a mirror image of the jagged treetops.

After crossing the Nisqually River behind an agonizingly slow single-file line of hikers, we again tracked into the forest, the wide trail offering us an easy descent into Longmire. By early afternoon, we were back at the parking lot. Mandy drove us to Ashford, where we’d fill up on hot food and ice cream. I found WiFi to get this dispatch back to The Chronicle, and we’ll stock up on hot tea and cold medicine before heading back into the park. 

We’re about a third of our way into the hike, with 60 or so miles remaining. We’ll knock out a few more this evening, then spend the next three days completing our circuit. We’ve got lakes and ridgetop views to look forward to, punishing climbs and gentle valley strolls. As we reach the north side of the mountain, we’ll get an up-close look at the glaciers that formed much of the terrain on which we’ve been hiking. If all goes well, we’ll get back to White River on Tuesday, with plenty of time to make our way back to Centralia, get a hot shower and start writing Part Two. It looks like rain. We can’t wait.