The Sunday Drive

How do I find hope on a dying planet, and if there is no hope to be found, how do I live in its absence?

Pam Houston in Deep Creek

Residents of western Washington were sad to learn recently that the National Park Service this year will be requiring a reservation and permit to enter Mt. Rainier National Park. “The Mountain,” as it is called by locals, looms large on the horizon wherever you travel in the western part of the state, rising more than fourteen thousand feet above sea level. Though its summit is often obscured by clouds, its presence is always worth a discussion: “Did you see the mountain today?” “Is the mountain out today?”

I grew up with a view of this volcanic peak from my bedroom window, and when I woke up in the morning I would typically lift up the shade to catch a glimpse of its snow covered slopes glowing pink in the sunrise. The vista was familiar, but it was never ordinary.

Sunday drives to “the mountain” were a regular pastime in my family. It was only about an hour’s drive from our home in Tacoma. It never disappointed. The discussion would typically begin over waffles for breakfast: “Where shall we go today?” There were plenty of beautiful places within a short drive from Tacoma, but none of them rivaled Mt. Rainier. This pastime was nothing new. Included in our family photo album were faded black and white photographs of my father as a boy with his parents, standing in front of their black sedan in the 1930’s, the vista of that mountain rising behind them.

As I got older, it was a quick drive to some of the most beautiful trails in the Cascades, some of the most beautiful trails anywhere, with meadows in bloom below its snow covered slopes and views in all directions. When I had more time I would make the much longer drive to the east side and Sunrise Visitors’ Center. There the trails quickly led to the alpine zone, where nearby glaciers could be viewed with ease.

Requiring a reservation to enter the park of course does not mean these views are no longer accessible nor that hikers will be kept away from the trails. But the spontaneous response to “Where shall we go today?” will no longer include a drive to Mt. Rainier.

Though it pains me to admit it, I have been an advocate for reservations in wild places for a long time. If there is a central theme to these weekly posts it is that crowding is incompatible with a meaningful backcountry experience, and the only way to restore the wildness is to limit the number of people who go there.

The last time I visited Mt. Rainier National Park was on Thanksgiving day 2022 (see Remembering the Mountain, 11/27/22). I had expected that the crowds would be home enjoying a turkey dinner with their families, but I was wrong about that. I was unable to find a parking site at Longmire so walked some distance from a wide spot on the road, where other vehicles had crowded in closely. I took a short hike around the meadow and returned home, unable to get past the crowds, disappointed and discouraged. This is why the reservation system is needed. This is why there will be no more Sunday drives to the park.

In truth, Sunday drives ended a long time ago. A leisurely trip in a gas guzzling automobile stopped being fun as it became increasingly costly. I am old enough to remember when gas was nineteen cents a gallon. Yes, I remember that but just barely, By the time I started driving at sixteen it was up to twenty-nine cents a gallon. No wonder we took those long trips, those Sunday drives, free of guilt, unconcerned about the cost and environmental consequences of our journeys. It was an inexpensive pastime for a young family. If we were lucky it included a fried chicken dinner at Mary McCrank’s on the way home and a slice of apple pie.

The park has changed in many ways besides crowding and reservations. Those magnificent glaciers that descend in all directions from the summit now are receding at unprecedented rates. The wildflower bloom is not as vibrant, as a heavy snow pack no longer blankets the fragile subalpine vegetation through the cold montane winters. And vegetation has been trampled in many places, especially on the backcountry trails, where hikers have carelessly cut switchbacks and pitched their tents in places where flowers once grew.

Yes, this is another one of those posts in which an old woman remembers the way things used to be. I will forever cherish those memories. Hiking the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier with my friend Kathy the summer after we graduated from high school remains in my mind as one of the best hikes I have ever taken, but no one gets to be my age without regrets.

Still, along with the regrets there is the long list of things I am grateful for. Near the top of the list is the Sunday drive, that I lived in a time of innocence, however misguided, that I regularly hiked on mountain trails that were quiet except for the rushing of streams, the wind in the trees, the sound of each footstep on the path, and the campsites I shared with no one but my quiet thoughts. I can still find those places, but they are not likely to be found on the slopes of Mt. Rainier.