DAY 16
Missoula, Montana, to Yakima, Washington
It was a quiet Thursday morning in Missoula, and I tried to let everyone get some rest. It would be another less exciting day, as our only purpose today was to make ground towards the coast. We had gobbled up about every landmark and park between here and Georgia, and now we had to push from Montana through the Panhandle of Idaho and on to Yakima, Washington. From there, we would climb Mt. Ranier on the route to Seattle and have another fantastic stretch down the Pacific Coast towards Southern California.
As I started packing the van, I noticed more rabbits lurking around. They seemed to be stalking me. It was a strange experience. While I was looking, the bunnies made little movement and intently watched me. As I turned away, they stealthily hopped towards me. It created a scene where they were closer every time I looked, but I never actually saw them move. They were down the street the first time I saw them, the nearby picnic table the next look. Another look, and they were under my feet. There were unusual things afoot here in the KOA in Missoula, Montana.
Around 9, the girls stumbled from the cabin to the van and settled back in for a long morning nap. I drove to the office to check out and asked the lovely ladies inside what was up with the rabbits. In a scene reminiscent of Blanch and Dorothy working a summer job, the comedic duo spun a rather entertaining yarn about a guest leaving behind a few rabbits some years ago. The rabbits did what rabbits are prone to do, and the resulting brood has multiplied into a healthy, docile, tame population of rabbits that have become the mascots of the KOA, protected, cared for, and enjoyed by all the guests who visit this cute little KOA in Missoula, Montana.
We busted out of Missoula by mid-morning to begin another one of those forced marches we have sprinkled into the itinerary. Most days are less than 300 miles; a few days push that number above 500. Today was one of those days. We crossed back into Idaho before ten. Again, climbing high into the Bitterroots. The scenery had again transformed. In the panhandle of Idaho, the mighty mountainous fur forests dominated the scene. Lush, fertile, and the deepest forest green, the rolling, verdant mountains flowed endlessly into the distance.
As we descended the Bitterroots, we slipped into a narrow valley that splits the Coeur d’Alene and St. Joe Mountain ranges. As we dropped down toward Coeur d’Alene Lake, the view was spectacular. The architecture on the lake gave it a distinct New England feel—more Matha’s Vinyard than Boise State. From there, we crossed shortly into Washington. Another state checked off the list. We made Spokane by lunch and found a restaurant for a leg stretch and to fill up. From Spokane, we pushed down I-90 across the massive Columbia Plateau towards central Washington.
By early afternoon, the sky slowly began to fill with a familiar haze. The bright, cerulean skies faded into a light blue, muted smog. At first, I thought it was fog, but still being some distance from Seattle and several landscapes away, it quickly became clear it was smoke. By the time we crossed the Columbia River that afternoon, the air was thick, and the piney notes of an active wildfire filled the nostrils. On the western edge of the plateau, we crossed a low mountain range to Ellenberg, where we pressed south towards Yakima. We climbed another small range out of Ellenberg and stopped at a lookout over Ellenberg and the Columbia Plateau.
The visibility was alarming. The smoke from several wildfires in Canada had choked much of western and central Washington for the past few weeks. But to see what that looks like in person is an arresting site. What is usually a visibility hampered only by the land curving out of sight, today it was less than a mile. The pastoral countryside spreading out into the distance had been reduced to I-90 whizzing by at the bottom of the mountain. Feeling slightly deflated at what this might mean for Mt. Rainier tomorrow, I returned to the van, and we pushed on to Yakima, where we settled in for an early night.
DAY 17
Yakima, Wahington, to Seattle, Washington
It was an early morning on the warm spring day in Yakima. Nestled in central Washington, Yakima boasts a rich tapestry of history and culture. Renowned for its agricultural bounty, the region is the heart of the state’s apple and hop production, with Yakima as its defacto capital. The Yakama Nation’s reservation nearby adds another layer woven into the region’s fabric. The city’s vibrant arts scene, anchored by the Capitol Theatre, showcases local talent. Yakima’s sunny climate, with over 300 days of sunshine annually, enhances its allure for residents and visitors alike.
After a quick breakfast in the motel, we picked up US-12 on the north side of Yakima and headed towards Naches and the Cascade Range. It is one of the most dynamic and beautiful mountain ranges in the Lower 48. In the heart of the Pacific Northwest, the Cascade Range in Washington State boasts a wealth of intriguing environments and natural wonders. This majestic mountain range is home to a string of towering volcanoes, including the iconic Mount Rainier, the tallest peak in the state.
One fascinating aspect of the Cascade Range is its dynamic geological history. The mountains here are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire, a horseshoe-shaped zone of seismic activity characterized by frequent volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. Mount St. Helens, infamous for its explosive eruption in 1980, is a poignant reminder of the region’s volatile past and ongoing geologic activity.
Beyond their volcanic legacy, the Cascades harbor diverse ecosystems, ranging from lush old-growth forests to alpine meadows. These habitats support a rich tapestry of flora and fauna, including elusive creatures like the mountain goat and wolverine. Moreover, the Cascade Range shapes Washington’s climate and hydrology. The towering peaks are a barrier to prevailing weather patterns, influencing precipitation patterns and creating distinct regional microclimates.
On this beautiful spring morning, we visited the mighty Cascades to see some exciting wonders. Today’s stop would be Mt. Rainier. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a glacier or two. And if we were lucky, maybe a little snow would paint the day. Amidst the verdant backdrop of Washington, the road to Mt. Rainier was a symphony of nature, played on a stage of endless sky and earth. It’s a thoroughfare hewn through the wild heart of the Northwest, where each bend in the asphalt beckons with the thrill of the unseen. The mountain loomed ever closer as we traveled, an ancient monument crowned with snow even as the coming summer’s warmth radiated through the pines.
The scent of pine and fir needles mingled with the crisp air, a fragrant cue of the vast wilderness that stretched around us. Sunlight dances through the canopy, casting a dappled pattern upon the road, and with the windows rolled down, the forest’s breath is cool and refreshing. Along the road, signs warn of falling rocks, which are as much a part of the landscape as the towering cliffs they stand against. The sheer drop-offs, unguarded by railings, add danger to the journey’s beauty, reminding me that this land was wild long before the road carved its way through.
Still early, when we pulled into the Clear Creek Falls overlook, Diem and I took time to see the beautiful river. This stretch of US-12 west out of Naches is known as the White Pass Scenic Byway. So far, it has not disappointed. Verdant forests, dense with towering evergreens, cloak the rolling hills, whispering tales of an ancient earth. Misty mornings reveal mountains that pierce the horizon, their snow-capped peaks standing watch over the lush valleys below. Robust and relentless rivers carve paths through rugged terrain, their waters, icy and crystal clear. Stepping up to the rail and looking out over the wilderness, I stood transfixed in the scene for some time.
As I gazed out across the river valley, the color variations of green were striking—patches of vibrant bright green scattered amidst the deep forest green of the old pine and firs. Next to the rail overlooking the falls was a plaque that told some of the story of the greens of the forest of the great Northwest. The majestic larch tree, an emblem of resilience in the natural world, graces northern forests with its awe-inspiring presence. Unlike typical conifers, larches shed their needles in the fall, painting the landscape with vibrant hues of gold and orange, making them the only conifers to drop their needles annually.
These deciduous conifers, often called “tamaracks” in North America, thrive in cold climates, from Siberia to North America’s boreal forests. Larch wood, durable and resistant to rot, has been prized for centuries in construction and boat-building. Making it a valuable part of Washington’s timber industry. Revered for its beauty and adaptability, the larch stands as a symbol of endurance and the cyclical rhythms of nature.
Shortly after leaving the falls, we entered Gifford-Pinchot National Forest. Marking an already forgotten, or perhaps never known, number of National Forests/grasslands/wetlands we’ve crossed on the trip. It’s probably in the 30s by now. Here, the snow-capped peaks in the distance began to fill the horizon. The switchbacks and mountain climbs were exhilarating. We rolled along the mountain highway until we reached White Pass at 4,501 feet. As I swung the van around in the pullout and parked, Mt. Rainier came into our central view. There, capped by snow and framed by a bed of rolling mounts of fir and pine and a crown of cerulean blue and whispy white clouds, stood as majestic and singular of a mountain as I have ever seen. The thrill of getting to that mountain had reached a crescendo, and so on, we pushed.
Mt. Rainier East Entrance
Not far from White Pass, we picked up Washington-123 north to Mt. Rainier. We made the entrance sign shortly after 9 a.m., and I was pretty proud of myself for how early our day was developing. We stopped at the park’s entrance for another family selfie before pressing on to the visitor center. At the visitor’s center, we received some bad news. This side of the park was not yet open for the season. Most of the road to Paradise was impassable.
We would have to take a 2-hour detour through a town named Packwood and pick up a dusty back road called Skate Creek Rd. S, and slowly wrap our way around the mountain to the park’s west entrance. I had initially hoped to get to Paradise from the East entrance, drive straight through the Park, and come out at the West Entrance. Our new path would add 4 hours of driving to the day’s itinerary. I guess it’s a good thing I got that early start. We were going to need it.
In downtown Packwood, we turned onto the small country road of Skate Creek and began the long slog around the mountain. The road did as would be expected. It followed Skate Creek upstream towards its origins somewhere in the forested mountains. Not terribly far out of Packwood, we pulled off at an old bridge that crossed the creek for a closer look. A small path led down to the water’s edge, and the scene was right out of a fantasy novel.
As we meandered along the verdant trail, the orchestra of nature played a soothing symphony. The moss-clad rocks, guardians of ancient secrets, nestled along the babbling brook. A timeless melody of water and stone. Sunlight painted the canvas of green leaves and ferns in patches, lending a luminosity to the stream that seemed to carry the very essence of life within its crystal clarity. The forest was alive, not just with the sounds of the water, but with a silent energy of life’s essence.
In one serene moment, the forest revealed its enchanting dance; mossy limbs stretched across the brook, a natural bridge adorned with nature’s drapery. Flanked by pebbled shores, the stream played along, twisting and turning with the land’s gentle cues. I stood there, rooted like the trees, drinking in the scene that could have spanned back to epochs long before human footprints marked these grounds.
Further along, the water’s surface became a looking glass, reflecting a world upturned. Pebbles below seemed suspended in the medium, as if time itself was paused, creating a mosaic of earthy hues that told the story of the forest floor beneath the clear water. Each stone, rounded and smoothed by the tireless efforts of the flowing stream, a nod to nature’s patience and persistence.
From the creek side, we continued into the mountain wilderness. The small road seemed to shrink with every turn. After one hour, then two, the seemingly infinite path continued deeper into the forest. We eventually left the creek behind and picked up the Nisqually River. Its cold mountain runoff clouded in a mineral-rich suspension, giving the river a strange creamy white quality to its color. I kept getting glimpses of the unique-looking river through the tree line and wanted a closer look. Maggie, too, had become piqued by the scene and urged me to find a place to stop.
Maggie and I emerged from the van and made our way for the tree line. Surveying the roadside, I found what I thought to be a suitable place to drop down towards the river bed beyond the trees. The terrain was relatively steep; the ground was littered with fallen trees, and moss covered most everything. I picked up the sound of the river below, and we pushed on through the thick underbrush. Soon, the bright clearing of the river bed became increasingly pronounced until we finally popped out through some giant ferns onto a ledge overlooking the river. It was a magnificent sight.
The scene before us unfolded into a pristine and vibrant landscape, a tapestry of natural splendor, where the regal beauty of a snow-capped mountain dominates the horizon. In the foreground, the turbulent Nisqually River, an artery of life, carves its way through a valley, its waters tinted with the white and blue of the distant ice. The trees, a dense evergreen forest, stand as sentry along the riverbank, their verdant needles whispering the tales of the wilderness. Amazed at our luck in stumbling across such a beautiful scene, Maggie and I stood and marveled at the grandeur of the view.
Mt. Rainier
Late in the morning, we finally popped out of the forest onto Washington-706 just east of Ashford and turned east toward the park’s western entrance. Here, the scene was much different from the Eastern Entrance. We came to a long line of cars that disappeared around a wooded corner towards the entrance. As we waited to enter the gates, Maggie hopped out to grab a few baskets of cherries sold by the many vendors that line the mountain road from Ashford to the park entrance. After about 20 minutes, we entered the gates while enjoying fresh cherries from a local orchard.
The cherries only fueled our hunger, and we pulled off at the first turnout to look at the mountain and so Diem could prepare a quick lunch. The mobile kitchen in the van had been a godsend, and Diem quickly whipped up a delicious hot stir-fry. Scarfing my lunch down as quickly as I could, we pressed up the mountain highway towards Paradise as everyone else enjoyed theirs.
Mount Rainier National Park, established on March 2, 1899, is a pristine example to the grandeur of the Pacific Northwest’s landscapes and the visionary efforts to preserve natural beauty in the United States. It was the fifth national park designated by Congress, embodying the conservationist spirit of the era, and covers an expanse of over 236,000 acres. The park epitomizes biodiversity, housing vast old-growth forests and subalpine wildflower meadows.
At its heart lies Mount Rainier itself, a towering stratovolcano standing at 14,411 feet, which is the most glaciated peak in the contiguous U.S., spawning five major rivers. It’s not merely a mountain but a natural landmark that has been a beacon for mountaineers, adventurers, and those drawn to its challenging slopes and the promise of exhilarating vistas. For over 10,000 years, it has been a spiritual icon for the indigenous peoples, including the Puyallup and the Yakama, who called it “Tahoma” or “Takhoma,” meaning “mother of waters.” A fitting name for this mother of rivers.
The park’s diverse ecosystems support an array of wildlife, from black bears to mountain goats and over 200 species of birds. Its geological history is marked by volcanic activity, glacial advances, and retreats, which have sculpted its current rugged landscape, creating a geological mosaic that speaks to the Earth’s formative powers. The history of human interaction with this terrain is rich, dotted with tales of exploration, from John Muir’s ascent in 1888, which spurred conservation efforts, to establishing the iconic Paradise Inn in 1916, offering respite to those seeking the mountain’s transformative power.
Mount Rainier National Park is an emblem of wild America, an enduring legacy of nature’s splendor, and a continuous source of wonder and study. It reminds us of the delicate interplay between human ambition and the formidable forces of our natural world. Drawing the curious and adventurous to its snow-laden slopes. And on that note, we pushed our temporary home on wheels to the edge of the known world, to the heights of the majestic Takhoma.
The road climbed many switchbacks across the park before finally topping the mount at Paradise. Here, the land was still much covered in snow. The parking lot at the visitor’s center was a clear indicator that Paradise was having a busy day. We found a spot and headed to the Henry M. Jackson Memorial Visitor Center. Named after the late Senator from Washington, the center featured a well-curated natural museum, a fully stocked gift shop, and some incredible vistas to view the countryside.
We toured the museum, purchased souvenirs, and bought ice cream to enjoy on the veranda. Diem and Jennie sat at a picnic table while I took Lisa and Maggie to check out a few trails. The trails that led out from the visitor’s center were still covered in snow. Or more like grey and dirty ice. It wasn’t frigid as we made our way down one of the trails, maybe in the upper 50s, but there had been so much snowfall over winter that it was still far from thawing completely on this late spring day.
We followed a few paths into the alpine forests surrounding the center as the snow-capped rugged peaks lined the horizon. We stumbled across a sign denoting a view of the Nisqually Glacier, and I took a few minutes to admire the massive river of ice before continuing down the trail. After a few snowballs, some cold feet, as I was the only one not in open-toed shoes and a growing sense of general cold and hunger, we scooped Diem and Jennie up and made our way to a picnic area to prepare lunch in this beautiful forested scene.
We again picked up Washington-706, out of the park, and headed for Ashford. In the quaint little mountain town, we stopped at the city park for a rest and a late lunch. Diem conjured up a steaming bowl of pork trotters and noodles piled high with fresh herbs. The girls played on the playground, and we enjoyed the break. Alas, we couldn’t tarry long. It was several hours more of driving before we reached Seattle.
As we left the mountain behind, the once sunny skies slowly filled with grey clouds, which revealed that Seattle was drawing near. We reached Downtown around six and cruised through the downtown area. On a sort of reconnaissance mission, we had an appointment for a Market tour promptly at eight the following morning, and I needed to find parking ahead of time. The extra-tall van’s size had proven challenging in finding a place to park in previous cities. It allowed us to see some of the sights in Seattle under its infamous blanket of fog and low, dreary clouds.
We reached our hotel a bit late for my liking. Diem whipped up a quick dinner for us in a mobile kitchen under a rain-soaked sky, and I ordered a local pizza for the girls. Here, the world was cool and wet. Seattle reminded me much of Da Nang in winter. It is too cool to swim in the ocean and too warm to justify a winter coat. Seattle’s perpetual drizzle wraps the city in a cloak of gray, where the sun is as elusive as a quiet coffee shop during rush hour. In this wet and melancholy scene, we settled in for another night on the road. Tomorrow, there will be a tour of the historical and well-known Pike Place Market, followed by a push across the Puget Sound to the Olympic Peninsula and Olympic National Park. But tonight, we rest on our seventeenth day on the road—another incredible day of exploration across this magnificent land. Only today, it’s beneath an endlessly cloudy sky.
To explore some of the Parks and Monuments we’ve explored and more, click here for the National Park Services.
