Skyline Trail Snowshoe to Glacier Vista, Mt. Rainier

Snow-covered view of Mount Adams from Glacier Vista on the Skyline Trail at Mount Rainier, under a clear blue winter sky.

MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK, PARADISE:

In the darkness of my early morning drive to Mount Rainier, anticipation kept me wide awake. The sun was still a couple of hours from reaching Paradise, but the morning already felt like something. Each breath of the crisp morning air filled me with gratitude, setting the tone for a day on the snow-covered Skyline Trail at Paradise. Today felt like a journey through the trails and inward at the same time. I was drawn outside before I ever set foot on the official path. The closed gate at Longmire couldn’t deter my spirit; instead, it opened a door to new reflections, reminding me that life often unfolds in ways we least expect.

With the Wonderland Trail beneath my feet, the snow crunched underfoot and a nearby creek ran quietly in the dark. The solitude of my hike was interrupted only by the laughter of fellow adventurers as I returned to the gate, each awaiting access. Once at Paradise I set off across the snow in my new snowshoes, clumsy and off balance at first. Each careful step gave me a reason to stop and take in Mount Rainier. By the time I reached Glacier Vista, the wide view made the slow climb feel worth every step.

Reflecting on today’s experiences, I realized how deeply connected gratitude and authenticity are in my life. For a long time I built my identity around achievements, titles, and the things I liked to do. Hiking today, I let some of that fall away. The trail had a way of reminding me that growth doesn’t need to be complicated. Focusing on purpose instead of labels and outcomes left me steadier, and reminded me that I can begin again anytime. Out there, I settled on something simpler: live honestly, stay close to the people who matter, and leave room for the unexpected.

The Journey…

The sun was still a couple of hours away from casting its rays over Paradise on Mount Rainier as I approached the closed gate at Longmire, 11 miles from the trailhead. My heart raced with anticipation at 6:30 AM, the chill in the air invigorating against my skin. Adventure was calling, but with the gate locked until 9 AM, I decided to make the most of my time and set off on the Wonderland Trail in the dark. The crunch of snow beneath my boots echoed in the stillness, harmonizing with the gentle murmur of a nearby creek. The air smelled of fresh snow. My headlamp cast a soft glow over the trail, blanketed in white, demanding careful footing. Still, being out here before the world woke up left me grateful.

After returning from a couple of miles on the Wonderland Trail, the gate finally opened, clearing a path to the Skyline Trail. Strapping on my snowshoes at the trailhead, I felt both excitement and trepidation; this was my first time on snowshoes. Walking in 26-inch shoes felt like a toddler’s first steps, clumsy yet exhilarating. My heart raced with the effort, and I found myself pausing often, taking in the dazzling scenery around me. The blue sky stood bright against the white snow, and cross-country skiers slid past now and then, breaking the quiet. Each stop was a chance to catch my breath and look up at Mount Rainier before pushing on, one careful step at a time.

Reaching Glacier Vista was the moment of fulfillment for today. I paused to gaze at the hikers traversing around the summer trail, and some daringly heading straight up to Panorama Point while I chose to linger. Now and then I heard rockfall clatter somewhere out across the glacier, a reminder of how big and unbothered the mountain is. Finding the perfect spot, I slipped off my snowshoes and pack, leaning back against a rock. I closed my eyes, letting the sun’s warmth wash over me. When I opened them, the Cascades were spread out in front of me, rows of peaks fading into the distance. I carried that view down with me all afternoon.

Gratitude…

Today, my gratitude took a turn for the unexpected moments when plans go awry. As I drove through the stillness of the early morning, my heart was full of anticipation, hoping for a perfect sunrise at Mount Rainier. The empty roads gave me room to think on the way up. I had envisioned ascending the skyline loop with my new snowshoes, feeling the thrill of winter on the trails after a recent series of urban hikes. But as I approached Longmire, a closed gate greeted me like goal-line defense, reminding me that nature has its own schedule. Instead of letting disappointment seep in, I chose to pivot. I ventured onto the Wonderland Trail, retracing steps I’d taken before. Walking in the dark, boots on frozen ground, I was reminded how much good can come from an unexpected change of plans.

As I hiked, the world around me began to wake up, slowly revealing its beauty. After a mile or so, I turned back, making my way to the parking lot where others had gathered, all waiting for the gate to open. It was a mixed little group, each of us there for our own reasons. I listened to snippets of their conversations, some filled with excitement, others tinged with apprehension. Standing there with them, I felt a real connection, a reminder that we’re all on our own routes, often thrown off course and finding something good in the detour anyway. That was the moment it hit me that I was fully present. Embracing the unexpected filled me with a sense of calm, transforming any disappointment into gratitude. I left with a new question on my heart: “How can I make unexpected experiences like this one into something special?” This shift in perspective can turn otherwise disappointing experiences into something pleasantly unexpected.

Reflections…

This morning’s hike was a beautiful reminder of the value of simplicity in life. Not too long ago, I was caught up in complicated goal-setting and detailed plans. In fact, I’ve lived most of my life that way, every detail worked out in advance, each goal a piece of a larger plan. While those moments brought validation and a sense of accomplishment, they also shackled my identity to external markers, my job title, things I liked to do, and roles I’ve filled. I was identifying with labels that felt temporary, or perhaps not representative of who I really was. Today, on the snow-covered trail, I felt ready to drop some of that and describe my life more honestly, or at least more accurately.

My approach to life has shifted dramatically. Instead of being tethered to rigid structures, I find myself asking in-the-moment questions that are aligned with my core values and virtues I hold dear. For instance, rather than fixating on steps, reps, or calories, I focus on the simple act of engaging with my body. That small shift, choosing to celebrate my purposeful efforts rather than obsess over outcomes, has been liberating. If I’m being honest in my efforts, the outcomes follow with no need for validation or accolades. I learned that I don’t need to wait for the “perfect” moment to start anew; every single moment is a fresh opportunity. I don’t need to wait for that next marker (like Monday) to start again. If I stumble, I give myself grace. Today, I felt that grace as I made my way along the trail, each step a reminder that I can just keep moving, and keep living.

When people ask me, “Who are you?” it’s a question that once felt daunting. I would feel the pressure to offer an answer, even if surface-level, or maybe present a polished version of myself, laden with titles and achievements. But as I hiked today, I pondered a response that feels truer to who I actually am. I value gratitude, humility, and connection, and I strive to embody empathy and care. But what I truly want is to be genuine, no pretenses, no masks. It dawned on me that my answer doesn’t need to be complex; it can be simple and inviting, reflecting the essence of who I am without overwhelming others with a philosophical exercise.

In distilling my identity, I found a more straightforward yet meaningful description: “I’m someone who values connection and growth.” This simple phrase opens the door to deeper conversations without the weight of philosophical complexities. Out on the snow in my snowshoes, I felt glad to be alive and taking it a step at a time. It’s refreshing to connect with others without feeling the need to impress; I can simply share my journey and invite others to share theirs. By the end, the trail felt like a smaller version of my life, each step a chance to connect, grow, and be honest.

Today’s hike reminded me that growth doesn’t need to be complicated. The trail had its twists, but living closer to my values made things simpler, not harder. It left more room to just be myself. Walking down, I felt a real sense of peace, still working toward simplicity, gratitude, and honesty. Life seems to get better when I let myself just be. The path continues.

-Ken