“I don’t like either the word (hike) or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains – not ‘hike’! Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre’, (‘To the Holy Land’). And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.” – John Muir
Flutie says:
In all the world (of which I’ve seen but a smidge), Mt. Rainier remains my favorite place to ‘saunter’. I am not religious, yet ambling up one of the myriad hikes starting from Paradise imbues one with a divine, assured air. Avalanche Lily’s flirt mischievously underfoot as spruce trees wave their slender, needled fingers towards the sun. And the mountain, oh, the mountain! No words properly convey it’s looming, brutal beauty.
The Camp Muir trail on which we sauntered is steep and strenuous (indeed all the trails here and Up, Up, and UP much more!), and often I had to stop to catch my breath. We only walked a little ways, because my mother sat waiting within the lodge. She’d journeyed to Washington to attend the funeral of a relative, and now, overcome by grief for all her dead and decaying peers, she’d adopted a ‘five-minute friend’ policy. As in, wherever we went, whatever we did, she would sit and make a friend. A five-minute friend, because, as sagely noted, “at my age, that’s all the time anyone has!” Sure enough, we returned to find her sitting aside another 80-year-old Grandma, both of them praying for peace, clutching their gentle hopes within withered hands like necklaced rosaries, there upon the ancient, sprawling roots of Takkobad.* (Takkobad – Native American name for Mt. Rainier)
No matter what tenets you yourself find holy or humbling, sauntering here embodies the heavenly Father of our National Park’s rallying creed: “The world’s big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.”
My Rating: Hurry and see for yourself…Paradise looms! Afterwards, do not reenter civilization before enjoying at least one piece of homemade blackberry pie from Copper Creek Inn, a PNW gem of red-sided, hand-painted, art-infused adorableness…
…where rest all the letters, hiding all the words, holding all the stories yet to be told.
Stu says:
Paradise might be my favorite place on this planet. I am never able to get enough of it. The delicately beautiful alpine meadows above the tree line are a sharp contrast to the awesome power and grandeur of the mountain above. I love to explore the network of trails that criss-cross these two environments.
Every time I come here, time is too short. “How far can we get in 30 minutes?” This time was no different. Flutie and I “raced” up the steepest, straightest trail in hopes of getting as high on the mountain as possible, so that grandma’s wait in the lodge was not unbearably long. But 30 minutes on the mountain is still worth the three hour drive. This place is beautiful every step of the way, regardless of how far you walk. Near the lodge, you’ll pass grandmas and mountain climbers on the same trails, because it doesn’t matter how far you are able to walk.
When I was a child, I looked forward to adulthood because I would be able to sit and eat as many Reese’s Peanut-butter Cups as I wanted. I’m still waiting for the day I get to walk as far as I want on the trails at Paradise.
Flutie with a Touch of Stu 