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he Editor of the National Geographic Society recently asked the
members to name those articles in the last volume of the
Society’s Magazine which seemed most interesting. Opinions
on such a question naturally would differ widely, but it must be
admitted that in the remarkable array of subjects treated some of
the most striking articles consisted of illustrated descriptions
of snow-clad mountains and polar regions. The remoteness of
these scenes may add to their charm, but it also lessens our
chances of ever seeing them. The Mount Rainier National Park, a
wonderland of glaciers and snow in our own country, is so easily
reached in summer that it is becoming fairly well known to
travelers. A recent visit to the park made by the writer and a
party of friends has shown that the slopes of Mount Rainier may
be reached even in winter without discomfort.
The Mount Rainier National Park, of 324 square miles area,
includes the symmetrical, glacier-clad slopes of the mountain and
a broad belt of magnificent forest land around its base. In
1883, Professor Zittel, the geologist, and Prof. James Bryce
wrote of Rainier:
“The peak itself is as noble a mountain as we
have ever seen in its lines and structure. The combination
of ice scenery with woodland scenery of the grandest type
is to be found nowhere in the Old World, unless it be in
the Himalayas, and, so far as we know, nowhere else on the
American Continent.”
The altitude of Rainier has been reported between 14,394 feet
and 14,526 feet, placing it either first or second among the
peaks in the United States proper. A difference of a few feet,
which can be determined only by accurate measurement, is of
slight importance to the ordinary observer. The noteworthy facts
are that Rainier stands absolutely alone, is snow-clad throughout
the year, and may be seen in its entirety from sea-level at
distances of forty to one hundred miles to the westward.
The Cascade Range, in its north-south course across the State
of Washington, has a general summit elevation varying from five
to seven thousand feet, above which tower the volcanic peaks of
Mounts Adams, Saint Helens, Baker, and Rainier. Glaciers still
linger on nearly all the higher peaks, as relics of the ice-sheet
which once covered the whole range. Many cirques of former
glaciers are occupied now by fields of snow and neve of great
thickness. The snowfall is heavy throughout the mountains, due
to the chilling of the warm, moist winds from the Pacific. In
spite of the glaciers and snows, the winter climate of the
Cascades is mild.
The railway station nearest to the Mount Rainier National Park
is Ashford, on the southwest, fifty-five miles from Puget Sound
by the Tacoma and Eastern Railway. Camping parties with wagons
or automobiles must come in from the lower country by the county
road passing through Ashford, but pack-trains can be driven into
the park by four or five other routes. The county road from
Ashford continues up the Nisqually River for six miles, to the
western boundary of the park at which point it joins the
government road. The latter has a maximum grade of 4 per cent,
and extends to Paradise Park, a favorite camping ground near
timber-line, between the Nisqually and Paradise glaciers.
In summer the Ashford stages run thirteen miles, to
Longmire’s Springs, where there are two hotels. The road
is open however past Nisqually Glacier and Narada Falls several
miles farther up.
During the season of 1909 a temporary road with steeper grades
will be completed to Camp of the Clouds, at an altitude of 5,600
feet. Eventually the permanent road will reach 7,000 feet, where
trails will branch off. An automobile party leaving Seattle or
Tacoma in the morning can pitch its evening camp in one of the
dense groves of stunted trees at timber-line in the shadow of the
great peak, looking out upon the jagged pinnacles of the Tatoosh
Range and the vast forest wilderness to the westward.
On March 18 our party found three feet of snow at the National
Park Inn at Longmire’s Springs. On the morning after our
arrival a dense cloud-bank hung a few hundred feet overhead.
Frequent flurries of snow came drifting down from it, now in
matted bunches of moist flakes an inch wide, again as separate
crystals, these in turn giving way to little rounded pellets like
dry sago, which hopped from bough to bough down through the
evergreens. Our skis settled silently through the fresh snow, as
we trailed up the government road along the Nisqually River,
intending to break a trail part way to Paradise Valley, the goal
of our trip. During the midday thaw, masses of snow clung to the
worn spots on the sole of a certain ski in the outfit. After
many gyrations and contortions had been made by its fair owner in
removing the burden, she announced piously, “My soul is
ready for Paradise,” and on we “mushed” again.
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On the trail up the narrow valley of the Paradise River the
snow was found to be a foot deeper for each two or three hundred
feet of elevation gained. So quietly had the flakes fallen in
the sheltered valleys that each stump and fallen tree was covered
almost as deeply as the surrounding ground, as some of the
photographs show. On the exposed ridges, however, the winds had
piled huge drifts over the brow of every leeward slope.
Cornices of snow overhanging the crags of Eagle Peak had
broken off and shot down its precipitous northern side, coming to
rest on a long talus slope near the stream. There we reveled in
ski sliding and jumping. Huge boulders in the talus beneath the
seven-foot covering of snow had caused hummocks on the surface
which served us in place of the artificial take-offs used in
regular ski jumping.
Two divisions of our party made the ascent to Paradise Valley.
The first group consisted of three men, including the writer. We
followed the general course of the horse-trail, but made frequent
cut-offs by crossing Paradise River on the snow bridges. The
only toilsome part of the journey was at Narada Falls, where we
were forced to navigate our skis sidewise, in crab fashion, up
the steep slope. Half a mile farther upstream, on the second
bridge of the government wagon road, the snow measured more than
two ski-lengths in depth, at least fourteen feet, without a sign
of drifting. Under the bridge was a pool of open water overhung
on all sides by rounded cornices of soft snow. A few
inky-bottomed wells marked the upper course of the stream for a
short distance, until it disappeared entirely under the deepening
load of snow.
The long, open meadow in Paradise Valley lay like a smooth
floor of snow, rising slightly until it merged into the final
slopes of Mount Rainier. The surrounding ridges, dotted with the
tops of stunted trees, had been so rounded and smoothed by
drifting that the small gulches and hillocks of ground were
almost blotted out. Constant shifting of the dry snow had
produced a fine, powdery surface everywhere. All appearances
indicated that the snow in the open meadow of Paradise Valley was
much deeper than at the bridge where we had measured it. The
difference in location and elevation of the two localities may be
held accountable for such a condition. Some marks which we made
on a tree trunk at the surface level of the snow will be
interesting reading in summer.
Excellent views of Mount Rainier and its southern glaciers
were had on a brilliant sunny day from the Ramparts, a long ridge
covered with standing burnt timber, extending southward from the
mountain. A series of cascades in the South Tahoma Glacier
caused the ice to stand out in jagged blocks against the skyline.
The surface of the Kautz Glacier was perfectly smooth with snow
except at its cascades. From Gibraltar Rock a snow banner as
large as the rock itself waved to the eastward.
On March 24, another cloudless day, two young ladies of our
party, accompanied by James McCullough, watchman at the National
Park Inn, made a ski trip to Sluiskin Falls, considerably beyond
the point reached by the first party. As both the ladies had
ascended Rainier in summer, they could enjoy to the utmost the
wonderful view of the snow-clad range spread out before them.
The Cascade Range in its winter garb is just beginning to be
appreciated. Hotels at several mountain resorts now remain more
or less open throughout the winter. The great advantage of
visiting the higher altitudes lies in the drier snow usually
found there, with only a slightly lower temperature. The
beauties of the forests and the snow-fields may be seen without
hardship by any visitor, while experienced mountaineers have
unlimited opportunities for climbing and exploring on trips of
two or three days. The writer’s experience, gained through
mining work in various parts of the range at all seasons, has
been that only the severest storms or the heaviest rains make the
Cascades unpleasant. So far as ski sport is concerned, it would
be difficult to imagine more perfect riding than can be had on
the many miles of varied slopes in Paradise Park. Judging by the
fresh tracks of snowshoe rabbit, weasel, marten, fox, wildcat,
white goat, and bear which our party saw in a few days, it is
safe to say that the Mount Rainier National Park offers good
chances to the camera-hunter.
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