Rampart Ridge Trail: A Forest Loop Hike at Mt. Rainier

Snow-covered Mount Rainier towering over the valley, seen from Rampart Ridge on a clear March morning.

MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK, WA:

Dawn was just coloring the horizon pink and gold as I set out for Rampart Ridge, a ritual that fills me with anticipation and gratitude. Just prior, the world was still in darkness, a familiar comfort on my drive that encouraged reflection on gratitude. With each mile, I pondered a conversation I’d shared recently, one with unfiltered discussions about loss and resilience. A topic that seems to bubble up just when I need it. It’s in these special exchanges that I realize how deeply interconnected we all are, walking our own trails of grief and joy, often without even realizing it.

The moment I set foot on the trail, the crisp morning air filled my lungs and I felt awake. The beauty of the old-growth forest welcomed me, and I felt alive, each step a reminder of the journey ahead. I carried with me a trail-thought that was about the less-spoken truths of loss, a topic that had lingered in my mind since my coffee chat earlier this week. Today’s hike was a blend of sweat, serenity, and self-discovery, as I worked through switchbacks that mirrored the complexities of life itself, with cascading waterfalls which reminded me of resilience, flowing effortlessly around obstacles, just as I’m learning to adapt and move forward in the face of my own physical and mental obstacles.

As I reached the ridge and paused to take in the views of Nisqually River Valley and surrounding mountains, I reflected on my father’s birthday, a bittersweet reminder of his kindness. Memories filled my mind like the gentle sound of the creek I met on my descent, keeping pace with my thoughts. I realized that while grief is a deeply personal journey, it can also be a shared experience, enriching our connections with others. With my trail journal in hand, I captured some insights, allowing them to evolve as I continued my trek. Each step forward was a reminder that loss shapes us, but it does not define us; rather, it propels us into the fullness of life, showing the beauty within struggle.

The Journey…

The morning air was crisp just after sunrise, as I began my hike to Rampart Ridge at Mount Rainier National Park. The 7.4-mile loop, under the clear morning sky, promised beautiful views and a challenging ascent, and it didn’t disappoint. Stepping onto the trail, the world around me felt both serene and alive. The fresh scent of the old-growth forest, now familiar, was a delightful reminder of spring’s arrival. I could hear birds greeting the dawn, their songs echoing through the trees, filling the air with a joyful melody. The trail was flanked by patches of snow-covered moss, remnants of the season that had just passed, and as I climbed, I could feel the elevation gain in both my lungs and legs.

Working through the switchbacks, I often paused to take in the views of the Nisqually River Valley, where the tree tops looked like a cozy blanket far below, a stark contrast to the rugged terrain I was traversing. It was a moment of reflection, reminding me of how far I’d come physically and emotionally. Each step kept the rhythm, while my thoughts wandered freely. I found solace in the cascading waterfalls on the eastern turns of the switchbacks, their relentless flow a metaphor for resilience in life. It struck me how nature teaches us to adapt and move past obstacles without concern or fanfare, just like the water that flows effortlessly around rocks and boulders.

As I reached the ridge, the trees thinned. There, I was greeted with stunning views of the surrounding mountains, including the majestic Mount Rainier. The landscape was breathtaking, and I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing I would have an equally challenging descent. Yet, amid this beauty, I couldn’t help but reflect on my father’s birthday, which coincided with my hike. Memories of our time together were on my mind, reminding me of the significance of nature and its ability to allow us to sit in our thoughts. The rhythm of my footsteps became a comforting mantra, allowing me to embrace memories with joy as I continued my journey.

Descending the trail, I encountered a lively creek, its cascading waters a soothing soundtrack to my thoughts. Each step felt lighter as I picked my way across the mixed terrain of roots and rocks, with the sounds of birds returning as I descended back into the old-growth forest. I was reminded once again of the interconnectedness of life, how each part of the forest holds the rest together. The sights around me, the warmth of nostalgia, and the thrill of the hike made this one I would remember for a while.

Gratitude…

As I set off from home around 5:30 AM, the world around me was still in darkness, a familiar yet soothing moment that welcomed my thoughts and gratitude. The drive to Longmire, nestled in Mount Rainier National Park, now feels like a sacred ritual. With each mile, the soft glow of the horizon began transforming the night sky, hinting at the day to come. I noticed a few more cars than usual, since it was a weekday morning, early birds making their way to work while I journeyed toward the tranquility of nature; I almost felt guilty…almost. The serenity of the road enveloped me, allowing my mind to wander to the conversations I shared with a friend over coffee just days prior.

Reflecting on that shared moment, we talked through the complexities of loss and grief; not with the weight of sorrow, but with a liberating lightness that comes from sharing less-spoken truths. It’s rare to find someone who understands the subtleties of such conversations, where vulnerability meets understanding, free from judgment or misinterpretation. The realization that these connections often arise in the most unexpected moments, with the right person and at the right time, filled me with gratitude. I felt thankful for the experiences that bond us, those quiet exchanges that remind us we are not alone in our journey. As I approached Longmire, the anticipation of the day ahead mixed with a deep appreciation for these moments that enrich our lives.

Reflections…

As I set off on my hike, Mount Rainier beginning to wake with the morning sun, today’s trail-thought, “less-spoken truths of loss and grief,” felt especially grounding. The quick switchbacks with their twists and turns mirrored the simplicities and complexities of my reflections. I found myself pondering how loss is a deeply personal journey, not a single event, unique to every individual living it. It’s terrain that varies, much like my experiences…some steep and challenging, others serene and beautiful. Each step I took felt like a reminder that within the chaos of grief, there lies a quiet understanding waiting to be uncovered.

Reflecting on my first truth, I recalled the winter of 2020 when Kelly faced her cancer diagnosis. It was a time filled with emotions, reactions, and at times silence from those around her. Some wanted to cry with her; some wanted to reason with her; while others just wanted to “kick cancer’s butt!” Each one working through their own understanding of cancer, and their authentic feelings of empathy, love, and connection. I learned that while people’s intentions were rooted in care, no one could truly comprehend what Kelly was experiencing, including myself, because these journeys are as unique as the people who live them. We came to learn that it really did not matter how people showed up; any way was the right way. Today’s reflection shifted my perspective; rather than trying to connect my understanding to someone else’s reality, I think it’s important to simply be present, reminding myself that I can offer support and love, in whatever capacity is needed, free from the weight of assumptions and my understanding about another’s unique journey.

The pain of losing a life-long partner is another less-spoken truth that stayed with me this week. It’s a realization that in relationships, which are meant to last, one partner doesn’t, and the other inevitably faces the reality of loss and life alone, many times without a caring partner at their end; this realization is sobering. I grapple with the notion of mortality and what it means for my future, and those around me. What kind of legacy will I leave behind? I found myself contemplating the kind of fulfilling end-of-life environment I would want. The idea of waiting for the next meal or next visitor feels unsettling; honestly, simply ‘waiting’ doesn’t sit well either, so to speak. So I’ve been considering purpose-driven projects that I might like to explore, and place on the shelf, for that time in the future, ones that perhaps can be limited by cognitive or physical capabilities, but still have the tenets of ‘purpose’ and ‘living.’ Maybe writing, recording, or some other form of creative expression, gratitude, and connection that drives my personal fulfillment. This thought brings an unexpected comfort, reminding me that my existence should be filled with intention, even in solitude, when facing the final mile of this life.

However, there is still the possibility of true love after loss, a thought both daunting and hopeful. To reconcile this possibility and be open to the idea, I think back to the early days of parenthood, when we wondered how we could possibly love another child as much as our first. Yet, love has a way of expanding, not dividing. This analogy offers me solace as I face the uncertainties of future relationships. I resolved that my heart has an infinite capacity to grow, and perhaps I can learn to embrace this potential for new connections, not to fill a void or even borrow from love lost, but rather to find its own space, an expanded heart. I’m learning to trust the universe and to have faith in something greater than my understanding, to believe that love will find its way to me when the time is right.

Today’s reflections led me to a simple conclusion: living a fulfilling life is more important than simply existing. The yardstick of longevity no longer holds value for me; instead, I focus on creating a life full of purpose and joy. Each journey offers me a chance to reconnect with these truths, to unravel my thoughts and feelings in nature’s presence. With my trail journal in hand, I captured these insights to allow them a space to evolve over time. Each step forward is a reminder that while grief and loss may shape me, they do not define me. The path continues.

-Ken