Snow Getaways

Snowmobiling in Roslyn

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 09:00:00 -0800

“YOU HAVE TO DANCE ON THESE THINGS.” That’s how Dan Johnson, straddling his own snowmobile, describes the circus around us: Expert riders are kneeling, standing, and leaning as their Ski-Doos surf the snow. It’s a dance, all right, but it’s not quite on the machines. These riders dance with the quarter-ton monsters, and they do it with grace.

I didn’t see that coming. Snowmobiles are perhaps the biggest bone of contention in the outdoorsy world, with opposing camps considering them awesome or an abomination. I’m a dyed-in-the-Smart Wool urban tree hugger who leans toward the latter. But I’m trying to keep an open mind about my first snow-machine experience.

The playful scene unfolds on a ridge on the eastern slope of the Cascades. The machining veterans, all members of the Washington State Snowmobile Association, led a handful of beginners up from the Salmon La Sac Sno-Park northwest of Roslyn. It’s beautiful country, with evenly spaced pine trees and a fresh load of fluffy eastside powder. The woods here are a patchwork of land designations: Forest Service land abuts the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, private holdings, and Cle Elum Lake. Out beyond the WSSA riders turning doughnuts and breaching snowbanks, Rainier squats in the distance. If a city-dwelling nature fanatic is ever going to embrace the snowmobile, it’ll happen here.

Sno-Parks in these parts—where snowmobilers park their trailers—fill to capacity even on dismal Saturdays. A century before it became the set for TV’s Northern Exposure, Roslyn was the company town for Northern Pacific Coal. Tourists flock to the tiny historic downtown, anchored by the Brick tavern and the Roslyn Brewing Company. At one end of the tiny town, closest to civilization, is the sprawling Suncadia Resort. The other side is where the real snowmobiling takes place.

Green freaks like me will happily don long undies to snowshoe, cross-country ski, toboggan, bird-watch, or snow camp, but touring the backcountry on a motorized toy is out of the question. The vast white wilderness is about peace and quiet—to snowmobile is to rev a 100-horsepower engine in the face of Robert Frost.

But 10 minutes after boarding a sled (the cognoscenti never call it a “snowmobile”), I no longer care about being politically or ecologically correct. These suckers are fast. There’s a reason there are four sequels to The Fast and the Furious—speed is fun. A beginner might reach 45 miles per hour, while experts push 100 miles per hour. The controls are as simple as those on a golf cart; no clutch, no shifting. Just squeeze one heated handle to go and the other to stop.

Despite the roller-coaster thrill of the snowmobile, the appeal isn’t really in the ride—it’s the mileage. We’ll cover more than 40 miles in one day, and we reached our towering ridge in an hour.

But oh, the noise. It’s a constant roar, something like the burr of a lawn mower. The volume means communication is through hand signals, mostly the universal thumbs-up or frantic hand-waving that means “Hey you, get back here!”

Say what you will about the exhaust—snowmobile engines have been getting greener since a 2001 EPA report noted they were emitting 531,000 tons of carbon monoxide each year—that noise is what the haters hate. Is the view worth the racket and the constant whiff of motor oil? At the viewpoint, on the kind of sunny day that makes the Northwest seem like paradise, yes.

An hour later, when stuck behind a slow driver on the return trip and gulping down endless mouthfuls of exhaust, I consider taking that back.

Hours after that, another change of heart: In the scruffy confines of a snowmobiler hangout, the warmth of the area’s snowmobile culture charms me again. This is the Old No. 3, a tavern where sleds outnumber cars two-to-one in the parking lot, and inside the ceiling is lined with baseball caps stapled to the drywall. Even when you’re not stashing a helmet next to your plate, the spot is as welcoming as the food is fried. (Very.) That snowmobile noise that bothered me so much? A sign above the bar seems meant for me: “Put your Big Girl Panties on and deal with it!”

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BETTER THAN “DEALING WITH IT” is finding a haven of peace and tranquility. Everything is quieter in Suncadia. Sure, there is plenty of activity in the immaculate 6,400-acre resort on Roslyn’s south end, but it has the enforced calm of a luxury retreat. On the three-mile drive through private residences, rental homes, and condos to the massive Suncadia Lodge, the speed limit for cars is half what I had done on my snowmobile.

The hotel overlooks a stretch of the Cle Elum River, the centerpiece of a planned community begun in the mid-2000s. Even the snow seems manicured, and sometimes it is—snowmakers from the Mission Ridge ski resort were brought to Suncadia’s tubing slope during the mild early winter. Take that, authenticity.

Here the snow muffles excess sound, except perhaps at the pool’s three-story water slides. Serenity rules at a delicately small outdoor skating rink, the spa’s soaking salt pools, and a winery built atop an old coal mine. Groups gather around fire pits, and the front desk offers a $20 s’more kit. Most guests come for the sweaty satisfaction of a quiet wander in the woods on rented snowshoes and Nordic skis. But that doesn’t mean snowmobiling hasn’t penetrated Suncadia.

“The pull from Seattle to this area for snowmobiling is insane,” says recreation director Dawn Wettig. The resort has secure parking for snowmobile trailers and arranges tours through Cle Elum shop Motor Toys. I ask owner Matt Chambers if he considers himself an environmentalist, and he pauses before replying in the affirmative. “It’s beautiful out there, I love the outdoors,” he says.

Will I love the outdoors from a snowmobile again? With new sleds priced upwards of $12,000, it’s a hefty investment, and I still can’t quite forgive the roar. But while on the ridge, as the WSSA riders noodled around on their sleds, it seemed pretty great.

Dan Johnson, the Seattle-area rider who calls their moves “dancing,” tells me about the volunteer search and rescue work he’s done on his machine. When four hikers were lost on Rainier in January, he joined Forest Service searchers on the mountain’s north side. I’m impressed, by the civic participation, by the view, and especially by the military jets that come thundering by our ridge. They buzz the canyon below, a remarkable sight, but they’re loud and I’m glad they pass quickly. In the woods, on a picture-perfect snowy day, a little bit of big, loud machinery goes a long way.

EAT

The Old No. 3
8381 State Road 903, Ronald, 509-649-3301

Swiftwater Cellars
301 Rope Rider Dr, Cle Elum, 509-674-6555; swiftwatercellars.com

SLEEP

Suncadia Resort
3600 Suncadia Trail, Cle Elum, 509-649-6400; suncadiaresort.com

DO

Motor Toys
71 Airport Rd, Cle Elum, 509-674-6807; motortoysofcleelum.com

Roslyn Brewing Company
208 Pennsylvania Ave, Roslyn, 509-649-2232; roslynbrewery.com

The Fabulous Baker Joys

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 04:00:00 -0800

Image: Garrett Grove

Snow Daze Most snowfall ever recorded? Mt. Baker’s 1,140 inches.

YOU’VE SET OUTfor Mt. Baker to ski or ride your board in the amplifying light of late winter, but by the time you step out of your car you may well be in the mood for some different activity altogether—prayer or vodka shots or a crash course in tire chaining.

Chances are a light rain set in soon after you left the funky little feeder town of Glacier, 35 miles northeast of Bellingham, and entered the Mt. Baker–Snoqualmie National Forest. And chances are that rain turned to snow just as you hit the treacherous hairpin curves past Razorhone Road. If you dared take your eyes off the fast-fading blacktop, you might’ve caught a glimpse of the granite massif of 9,131-foot Mt. Shuksan looming through the white curtain—and narrowly avoided the wall of snow that towers beside the road. Finally, a pair of jumbo bronze ravens, the work of local artist Tony Angell, emerges from a snowbank to herald the entrance to the White Salmon base area and the end of your white-knuckle drive.

Welcome to Mt. Baker in the final throes of a La Niña winter. During the last serious La Niña event back in 1998–99, Mt. Baker broke the world record for most snow in a single winter, racking up a total of 1,140 inches of frozen white, with an end-of-season compacted base of 310 inches. This winter, though the wettest storms have come in too warm for mountain snow, Baker’s base has still hovered around 10 feet from mid-December on. Granted, Stevens and Snoqualmie are a lot closer to Seattle, and Crystal has more skiable terrain, a gondola, and better food. But for sheer quantity of powder and pristine Alpine beauty, nothing beats Baker. Once you get there.

Though White Salmon is the preferred base (and the only option on weekdays), if it’s a snowy weekend and you have your heart set on leaving fresh tracks in the deep and steep stuff, you may want to drive another few miles to the upper (and older, creakier) Heather Meadows base. Here you can hop on Chair 1, head right up to the 5,000-foot summit of Pan Dome, and then take your pick of the mountain’s finest powder runs—the Chute, a gnarly rocky ravine under Chair 1; Canuck’s Deluxe, which cascades down a different face of the mountain in a relentless series of precipitous bumps; and the Canyon, which starts with a heavenly bowl and ends in a hair-raising (and often icy) funnel.

Be careful about which side of the mountain you ski, especially as the day wears on. The knock on Baker is that, though the scenery is unparalleled, the layout is awkward. Many of the best expert and intermediate slopes end in neither of the base areas but at the three-lift Raven Hot juncture between them, which means you have to ride up and ski down to return to your car. But some of the hassle should be alleviated next winter, when a new and expanded lodge and lunch place opens at Raven Hot.

Baker’s longtime president and general manager, Duncan Howat, insists that the area attracts a healthy mix of families and college kids, boarders and skiers, Washingtonians and British Columbians, old codgers and young hotdoggers—but somehow the dude vibe is what prevails. Watch them sail off the cliffs under Chair 5 on double-diamond Gabl’s or trek into the backcountry at Hemispheres or Shuksan Arm for one glorious free fall into powder paradise. Hear them swear as they whizz past you in the Canyon chute, where it’s almost impossible to stop. There’s a story that Howat once came upon a couple of teenage dudes making off with “out of bounds” signs. Cursing him out roundly, the teens took off into the backcountry, whereupon Howat, who is old enough to have two grown daughters running the area with him, gave chase and overtook the sign stealers. He offered the bandits a challenge: Beat him in a foot race and he’d let them go; lose and they’d have to put the signs back and he’d call their parents. Howat outpaced them again. That pair may have gone down in inglorious defeat, but their comrades just can’t stay away from these snowy steeps.

Image: Garrett Grove

Powder Play Few resorts beat Baker for quantity of powder and pristine beauty.

Still, after the lifts close, the closest thing to a scene on the mountain is the Heather Meadows Taproom where old-timers, extreme skiers, and off-duty patrol staff congregate to swap powder stories. Off the mountain, the party continues down in Glacier at the newly opened Chair 9 across from the Snowline cabin complex—the only place in town that serves hard liquor (and respectable pizza). You can snag a surprisingly good dinner at Graham’s (the pub adjoining the general store of the same name) or Milano’s (the boisterous Italian place across the street), though most apres-skiers prefer to microwave nachos or frozen lasagna in their rickety little cabin kitchens. Actually, a few rather palatial chalets have recently sprouted amid the A-frames and log cabins in Glacier’s gated developments (Snowline, Snowater, and Mt. Baker Rim)—but the vernacular style remains decidedly mossy, shaggy, dated, and utilitarian. Those who crave granite countertops or radiant floor heating have come to the wrong place.

If you trashed your quads on Saturday, you might want to sleep in Sunday morning and then wander into Glacier for a whole-grain muffin and organic java at the Wake-n-Bakery and a prowl for end-of-season bargains at the local gear shops. Or, weather and conditions permitting, check out the groomed cross-country trails along Anderson Creek and Razorhone roads (there’s parking at the Salmon Ridge Sno-Park, 13 miles past Glacier on the Mt. Baker Highway). But don’t pass up another downhill day lightly. No matter how deep the snow is, the mountain shuts down on April 24.

Big Sky’s the Limit

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 11:00:00 -0800

Image: the establishment

A sleigh ride at 320 Guest Ranch.

YES, TED TURNER and all manner of coastal slickers have descended on Bozeman, Montana, in the past couple decades and jacked up the prices. But the Boz Angeles crowd hasn’t changed the vistas of mountain ranges shouldering the sky in every direction, the lure of two heart-stopping valleys (Gallatin and Paradise) rolling south of town clear down to Yellowstone, the sound of fresh powder sighing beneath your skis, or the reliably extreme weather. Old-timers may grouse that wine bars and spandex emporia have chased the useful businesses out of the gracious redbrick shop-fronts along Main Street—but they’re as grateful as the rest of us that downtown remains alive and well.

My wife Kate and I have no beef with wine bars, so after deplaning on a wintery Friday evening we joined our Seattle transplant buddies Carolyn and Barrie at dark, packed, and jazzy Plonk on Main Street to strategize the weekend over Oregon pinot noir. We were itching to try our luck in the fabled “cold smoke” powder with both downhill and cross-country skis, to eat well, and to prowl around downtown shops and cafes.

By 9:30 the next morning, powered by a double cappuccino and frittata sandwich from Sola Café on the outskirts of town, we were standing in our skis in the sun atop Bridger Bowl surveying the precipitous panorama of evergreen and deep white. Imagine Snoqualmie Pass without the crowds, clouds, freeway view, corporate claptrap, and cement-like snow—that’s Bridger. It’s the low-key, glitz-free neighborhood hill for the luckiest neighborhood this skier has ever visited. Let me be frank: Kate and I are cautious, competent middle-aged skiers. But the instant we carved into Bridger’s packed powder, we acquired a hitherto unknown dash of panache, an unbidden conviction that our skis would do anything we asked. I’m sure the Montana Rockies have their off days—but every time I’ve skied around Bozeman I get the same magical boost.

Barrie and Carolyn had stocked their van with cross-country ski equipment in case we wanted to break up the day and spend the afternoon tooling around the trails that circle the Hyalite Reservoir, another local hangout about 18 miles south of town. But with all those nice groomed bowls and strips of powder lining the sides of the trails, it seemed crazy to quit Bridger. And anyway, we wanted to save time for downtown après-ski pleasures.

“A sound-as-a-dollar little city catering to its plump valley” is how Ivan Doig describes Bozeman in Heart Earth, an unforgettable memoir of his mother’s brief life set partly in the “horizon-bumping” Bridger high country north of town. Doig’s turn of phrase is as apt now as it was in 1945 when he was a scruffy tyke peering owl-eyed at Main Street from a barber’s chair. These days the wide sidewalks beside the dozen downtown blocks host a genial mix of students and faculty shuttled over from Montana State University at the south end of town, second-home owners in from their foothill spreads in what Doig calls the Montana Riviera, outdoor sports enthusiasts, and people who just like to stroll around a vibrant little city.

While Kate ducked into the enticing Girls Outdoors shop to contemplate the Kavu hats and Sherpani bags, I browsed the stacks at Country Bookshelf, a genuine independent bookstore with a good Montana authors section (big Doig display), and then ambled a few doors down to Vargo’s Jazz City and Books, an offbeat shrine to high-minded music and literature. Espresso and beer joints cried out for our patronage, but the day was fading fast, snow was in the forecast, and we had plans to spend the night at the 320 Guest Ranch, an old homestead-turned-cabin complex down in the Gallatin Valley. Prudence dictated driving the potentially treacherous road before dark.

WHEN YOU GO

Image: courtesy 320 Guest Ranch

SLEEP
320 Guest Ranch
205 Buffalo Horn Creek,
Gallatin Gateway, Montana, 800-243-0320;
320ranch.com

EAT
Plonk
29 E Main St, Bozeman, Montana,
406-587-2170; plonkwine.com

Sola Café
90 W Kagy Blvd,
Bozeman, Montana, 406-922-7652

DO
Big Sky Resort, 800-548-4486; bigskyresort.com

Bridger Bowl, 406-587-2111; bridgerbowl.com

Country Bookshelf, 28 W Main St, Bozeman, Montana, 406-587-0166; countrybookshelf.com

Girls Outdoors, 20 N Tracy Ave, Bozeman, Montana, 406-522-0013; gogirlsoutdoors.com

Moonlight Basin, 406-993-6666; moonlightbasin.com

Vargo’s Jazz City and Books, 6 E Main St, Bozeman, Montana, 406-587-5383

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Image: Bob Allen

Skiing at Big Sky.

If you’re bent on putting tracks in the powder at the twin world-class ski resorts— Big Sky and Moonlight Basin —that loom over the Gallatin about 50 miles south of Bozeman, there are scads of accommodations more convenient and tonier than the 320 ranch. But we keep going back to those no-frills cabins set back from the main road to West Yellowstone because we like the creaky homestead feel, never tire of the view of the Madison Range soaring straight across the valley floor, and don’t mind staggering through snow ruts in the parking lot to reach the hot tub. We appreciate the fact that they welcome dogs—and we love the prices (there’s a sweet skier’s package that combines lodging with lift tickets at Big Sky or Moonlight or both). The restaurant’s nothing to sniff at either—herb-crusted elk or buffalo au poivre for those who majorly shredded; pan-seared rainbow trout for those who watched.

Image: courtesy Downtown Bozeman.

Downtown Bozeman.

We woke on Sunday morning to a north wind, temperatures in the teens, and the promised new coating of snow—about six inches of powder so light you could clear it from the car windshield with a feather duster. Twenty minutes after breakfast we were shivering on Moonlight Basin Resort’s Six Shooter high-speed six-person chair as we climbed toward the 11,188 foot summit of Lone Peak that the resort shares with Big Sky. It was Barrie’s idea to ski Moonlight rather than Big Sky—diehard, seasoned skier that he is, he definitely made the right choice.

Big Sky has a lock on the name, the fame, and the lion’s share of the terrain (3,800 versus 1,900 skiable acres), along with higher prices ($79 versus $55 for an undiscounted adult day ticket). But the snow’s the same at Moonlight, and since we couldn’t possibly access all those snowy acres in a single day we figured we’d save a few bucks. Skiing blue routes and a few black diamond bump runs off the Six Shooter and Lone Tree lifts, Barrie and I rarely encountered a soul. Groomed, powder, tracked-out, crud, cruisers, bowls—it didn’t seem to matter—the runs were flawless. By quitting time a grin was frozen firmly to my face.

The grin did not quite survive the 7am Monday—morning flight home. But I have to say, I stepped off the plane at Sea-Tac with a little Ted Turner–esque swagger.

Snow Business

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:00:00 -0800

This Cold House

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 11:39:00 -0800

Image: Paul Milbourn

Snow caving brings back great memories for me: trudging through a godforsaken ice-locked hinterland (I swear we took the back way to Narnia) at a tender stage of adolescence with the Boy Scouts, only to spend a night freezing my hind end off in a sorry excuse for a hole I’d clawed into the side of a snowdrift like some desperate rodent. To top it all off, my boots were frozen solid in the morning because I’d left them near my cave’s opening all night, so I had to spend the morning cloistered in shame while they thawed by the fire pit. Ah, snow caving…

Turns out, like most teenagers, I just didn’t know what I was doing. Snow caving, which is exactly what it sounds like—making a cave in a mound of snow to use as a shelter for winter camping—can actually be an enjoyable recreational activity for just about anybody who can wield a shovel.

My first mistake, says John D. Erickson, was digging into the first lump of snow I could find at the edge of the Boy Scouts’ campground; instead, the ex-Spokanite and snow caving guru of OutdoorsWithDave.com says I should have looked for a drift at least four feet high and 10 feet across. (The alternative method involves making a pile of snow big enough to sleep in, then waiting for it to settle so it regains the density of naturally packed snow, and then burrowing into it—all of which takes more time and energy than you’re bound to have on a subfreezing day in February.) Cliff Hodges, a snow caving guide in Santa Cruz, California, suggests waiting until the snowpack—the amount of snow that’s piled up in a given location that year—is at least six feet.

Image: Paul Milbourn

Go dig a hole: Budget at least half a day to clear your cave.

It’s crucial to make sure there’s nothing hidden within the drift you’re hollowing out. Otherwise you could spend hours unearthing a boulder instead of fashioning a humble abode. Hodges recommends using an avalanche probe—a collapsible metal pole used to find people buried beneath an avalanche—to test the depth of a drift and make sure it’s all snow. Tad McCrea, a UW student and frequent snow caver—he’s kind of a bizarre mixture of Ken Kesey and Bear Grylls—learned that one the hard way the last time he tried to build a cave at the Hyak Sno-Park near Snoqualmie Pass and hit a rock wall beneath the snow before he’d dug very far. Since it was already dark and he didn’t have time to look for a better spot, he was forced to dig straight down, along the slope of the wall, putting the chamber of his cave below the entrance and allowing any heat generated within to escape. He’s immortal, so it didn’t matter; but for you and me, a good cave design is key.

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Image: Paul Milbourn

Put on your coat and stay a while: It’s not as hard to get comfy as you might think.

Give yourself at least half a day of sunlight, to allow for mishaps, and get burrowing. If possible, it’s best to start out digging up at an angle before leveling off, so the chamber of the cave will be above the entrance tunnel and trap the heat. The size of the chamber is up to you—the floor should be big enough around for you to lie down—but it’s important that you keep the walls of your snow cave between a foot and 18 inches thick and arched for stability. Naturally packed snow holds together well, but never walk on top of your cave—and make sure you mark it with flags so an unexpected, middle-aged, rediscovering-youth-by-cross-country-skiing guest doesn’t (literally) drop in on you. And don’t be alarmed by melt—as the temperature drops when day turns to night, the water will refreeze and strengthen the walls of your cave. You can also dig drainage gutters along the base of the walls to divert excess runoff away from your sleeping area.

On my one failed trip into the snow, I marveled at how some of my fellow Scouts’ caves could go so right—icy palaces with sculpted benches and tables, little shelves cut into the walls, smoothed ceilings—but McCrea says that comfort has more to do with bringing the right gear than fancy interior decorating. Some things, like fat- and protein-rich foods, are obvious, but others might not be: “Bring synthetic fabrics—don’t bring down—and if you have a down sleeping bag, bring a bivy sack to stay dry,” he says. “It can get pretty wet in the cave, depending on how warm it is.” And remember, snow is an excellent insulator, so you’ll stay warmer than you might think.

Most important, though, always let someone know where you’ll be camping and have an emergency plan, even if it is running back to your car and blasting the heater.

Taking a shot at snow caving is well worth it, not only for the sense of accomplishment, but because of the chance it provides to get the hell out of Dodge. “I love being far out into the wilderness and being able to take care of myself and be comfortable,” Hodges says. “I also love the solitude. Winter camping has a quiet and serene aspect to it that is extremely different from other camping.”

My Fat Big White and Silver Star Weekend

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 21:01:00 -0800

Image: Big White Ski Resort

SO HOW MUCH DOES it cost us to drive this thing?” my friend Laura wanted to know. We were riding shotgun, wedged in the cab of a metallic-blue Sno-Cat, blasting our way to dinner at Paradise Camp, a restaurant housed in a rustic cabin at British Columbia’s Silver Star Mountain Resort. Our driver, Mike, said we could try it if we liked, demonstrating the Cat’s steering mechanism. But before we took the controls the conversation shifted to Mike’s must-haves on the Paradise Camp menu: ginger prawns, rack of lamb, and baked Alaska. Before long the boxy clapboard restaurant swung into view. The building had a false front as if in a John Ford western. The sign read: “Hot Meals and Refreshments.”

“Don’t forget the baked Alaska!” Mike yelled, dropping us at the cabin’s front door and plowing off in a blizzard of exhaust. We kicked the snow from our boots and stepped inside, where persimmon-painted rooms were warmed by a wood-burning stove, and a dozen lantern-lit tables were set with linens and stemware. Chef Jason Folk personally delivered the wine list. We ordered two glasses of Okanagan Valley cabernet franc and toasted our weekend’s adventures.

These interior ranges are home to a growing number of resorts where intermediate and novice snow hounds can sample the region’s legendary light, dry snowfall.

Silver Star and its sister ski resort Big White are set in BC’s Monashee Mountains. While the Monashees—like neighbors the Purcells, Selkirks, and Cariboos—have earned a reputation as a place where helicopters ferry in hard-core skiers for romps through knee-deep powder, these interior ranges are also home to a growing number of resorts where intermediate and novice snow hounds can sample the region’s legendary light, dry snowfall. Both are less crowded and hectic than Whistler, and their slow pace and near-bucolic vibe (not a lot of loud dance clubs in these parts) make them exceedingly family friendly. So Laura and I flew north to check them out.

We began our reconnaissance at Big White after an easy flight via Horizon Air to Kelowna, BC (alternatively, the drive from Seattle is six hours). Big White rises from the high plains east of Kelowna (270 miles northeast of Vancouver), and the resort, laid out on the mountain’s tiered slopes, is almost fully self-contained. More than 17,000 beds fill some 30 ski-in/ski-out lodges and condos, which climb on linked terraces toward a central snow plaza. Owned by an Australian family, the resort draws a surprising number of skiers from Down Under, as well as England, Hawaii, and Japan.

Big White’s big draw? An annual average of 295 inches of snow. Storms tend to converge on the bald mountain and then (unlike on the peaks to the west) actually clear—exposing 118 trails spread over 2,800 acres. The terrain is mostly intermediate, but rises quickly above the tree line. On our second day, we woke to blue skies and three inches of powder so dry you’d swear you were in Utah. After a leisurely breakfast in our slope-side condo, we grabbed our skis and glided a few hundred feet to the lift, just out the back door.

There was no line, and minutes later we were testing our powder legs on wide-open runs. We whooped it up, carving loopy S-turns between well-spaced trees caked in snow. These trees, Big White’s famous “Snow Ghosts,” are frosted with so much condensation they freeze into small towers of ice. We glided among them, laughing.

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Image: Silver Star Mountain Resort

The next day we caught the intermountain shuttle north to Silver Star. The drive took just over two hours, which allowed additional time to recover from the previous night and Big White’s signature drink, the Gunbarrel Coffee. Only in Canada, we agreed, would you be served Grand Marnier “flamed” down the double barrels of a shotgun, into a goblet of coffee and mixed with brandy, cacao, and cream. Our entire night, in fact, had been refreshingly not politically correct, from the glassy-eyed gazes of deceased forest friends (moose, elk, deer, even beaver) staring down from wood-paneled dining-room walls, to the flaming Gunbarrel Coffee show. “Um, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Laura said, “but there are definitely fewer rules up here.”

By noon we checked into a one-bedroom suite at Silver Star’s Snowbird Lodge, a few steps from the compact base village. We were, at first, dumbstruck by Silver Star, which has a Disneyesque, Victorian theme: lilac, purple, turquoise, lemon-yellow, and peach storefronts connected by boardwalks. And the Snowbird, billed as Silver Star’s first slope-side luxury lodging, fell short of our expectations for the price ($356 American a night). The small kitchen has maple cabinets and the requisite granite counters; there is a gas fireplace topped by a slick flat-screen television, but the entire unit feels utilitarian and lacks soul.

Once we ventured out into the village and onto the slopes, however, Silver Star grew on us. The mountain offers a huge mix of terrain: There’s a gentle front side with acres of sweetly groomed greens and blues, and a north-facing backside, Putnam Creek, with a serious lineup of short, steep faces, bump runs, and glades. Kids can entertain themselves for days on the front, or if they’re up for black and double-black diamonds, they can race you down Head Wall or Holy Smokes on the back of the mountain.

The next morning Laura headed home, but I had the day to play on Putnam Creek. After skiing to Paradise Camp, where a friendly group invited me to join them beside the Franklin stove, I headed off again just as the temperature dropped and the snow started to firm. Everything was exquisitely silent and deserted. It was like having the BC backcountry all to myself. I skied past Head Wall and Rusty Whistle, Quicksilver, and Gong Show. All short, steep faces, wide open and deserted. I finally settled on Pipeline, stopped for a moment to drink in the stillness, and dropped in.

When You GO

Shuttle service is available to both Big White and Silver Star from Kelowna International Airport. The drive from Seattle takes six hours to Big White, eight to Silver Star.

EAT
Big White
Kettle Valley Steakhouse and Wine Bar 250-491-0130
Snowshoe Sam’s 250-765-1416

Silver Star
Silver Grill Steak and Chop House 250-558-6070
Paradise Camp 250-558-6087
Bugaboos Bakery Café 250-545-3208

SLEEP
Big White
Premium ski-in/ski-out condos and lodges. 800-663-2772; www.bigwhite.com
Silver Star
A wide selection of on-mountain, Victorian-style ski homes to rent. All are ski-in/ski-out. 800-663-4431; www.skisilverstar.com

35 Northwest Playgrounds

Sun, 28 Dec 2008 04:00:00 -0800

YOU REALLY CAN HAVE IT BOTH WAYS. Seattle is a haven for the indoor crowd—café dwellers, book nerds, and software slaves—but this is also an outdoor rec mecca. Lots of water, dense forests, and skylines so beautiful grown men have been known to weep at the sight of them. This region has more mountains, rivers, peninsulas, and vistas than any one person will ever be able to scale, raft, or trek in their lifetime, much less one summer. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.

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WATER

Green Lake Park, Seattle
Be a skipper
If you can ride a tricycle, you can captain a pedal boat. It doesn’t get any easier than pedal boating, the one marine activity that requires zero skill. That doesn’t mean pedaling across Green Lake, as the waves slosh you and your little two-person vessel around, isn’t a helluva lot of fun. A mere $14 gets you an hour on Seattle’s beloved landlocked lake in style. Merely agreeing with your shipmate on which direction to go keeps the peace on the high seas. Greenlake Boat Rentals, 206-527-0171; greenlakeboatrentals.net

Yakima River, Washington
Chase the rainbows
More than a hundred rivers, creeks, and tributaries meander through Washington State, but few are as scenic or as productive fly-fishing spots as the section of the Yakima River paralleling Canyon Road between Ellensburg and Yakima. Here the river bends repeatedly, creating numerous insect-rich pools where rainbow trout thrive. While you work to perfect your cast, you just might see a full-sized male elk amble down to the riverbank to drink, then cross and ascend the other side, as Greenlake resident Kevin Hughes once witnessed. "We often see no people, but plenty of wildlife," he says. If you’re short on gear or dry-casting know-how, book a trip with Dave McCoy, owner and head fish whisperer of Emerald Water Anglers. Emerald Water Anglers, 206-545-2197; emeraldwateranglers.com

Overachieving Seattleite

Trek the PCT

Thirty-three wilderness areas, 24 national forests, 7 national parks, 3 national monuments, 19 major canyons, and 57 mountain passes—that is the abridged version of the Pacific Crest Trail. The full experience (called “thru-hiking”), requires months, if not years, of planning and training, followed by the actual six-month, 2,650-mile trek from Mexico to Canada; only half those who attempt it each year finish. Seattleites contemplating the full route should hike the Washington sections of the trail first. Start with the 74-miles between Stevens to Snoqualmie Pass; it provides both physical conditioning and a taste of the logistics involved. From there, the PCT Association provides more preparatory info (and advice from PCTveterans) than you can fit in your pack. Pacific Crest Trail Association, 888-728-7245; pcta.org

Bow Lake, Washington
The board and the beautiful
Seattleites have a board sport for every season, and no summer day is complete without fit, bronze, and minimally clothed folks atop wakeboards careening around our lakes: Washington, Sammamish, and Tapps. Like its snowy counterpart, wakeboarding has a relatively steep learning curve, meaning even beginners can be up and cruising behind a boat within a day or two. You’ll be catching air soon after that. Don’t know your Osmosis 540 from a Backside Alley-Oop? Take a lesson at Bow Lake Watersports, located on a private wakeboard and water ski lake 60 miles north of Seattle in the Skagit Valley. Bow Lake Watersports, 877-396-5379; waterskiranch.com

Tofino, Vancouver Island, British Columbia
Surf’s up, eh?
Unending miles of coastline, year-round swells, perfect barrel-shaped waves—and bears. That’s surfing at Canada’s legendary Tofino, a thumb-shaped peninsula on the west coast of Vancouver Island, surrounded by Clayoquot Sound. A town notorious for wind-induced power outages, Tofino boasts no fewer than eight surf shops and instruction schools, 20- to 30-foot waves in winter, and some of the most rugged, stunning surf terrain this side of Maui. Yes, you trade sun-soaked Hawaii for a 40-degree wet suit, but you can also pocket the cost of airfare and use it to upgrade your lodging or treat locals to drinks in exchange for insider tips. Get rental gear, lessons, and a breakdown of all the local breaks at the Live to Surf shop. Live to Surf, 250-725-4464; livetosurf.com

Edmonds, Washington
An octopus garden
Seattle isn’t a top destination for Scuba enthusiasts, but we’ve got one thing that no other dive location can claim: the giant Pacific octopus, averaging 35 pounds with a span of up to 14 feet, the largest of its species. Scuba certification takes only a few days, and those willing to don a wet suit and brave chilly temps at local spots like Edmonds’ Underwater Park and just offshore from Alki Beach might glimpse the leggy legend, and otherwise will be treated to an underwater show that ranges from small crustaceans and urchins to trout, and, if you venture closer to the San Juans, migrating gray whales. Seattle Scuba School, 206-374-2937; seattlescuba.com

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Image: Adam Perry

Madison Park Beach, Seattle
Different strokes with lots of folks
Despite a preponderance of beaches, Seattle doesn’t exactly scream swim town. But once the mercury climbs above 70, sun-deprived Seattleites go swimming in droves, especially along the grassy shores of Madison Park Beach, a luscious slice of Lake Washington at the bottom of East Madison Street. The beach and its swimming zone, complete with a diving board and lifeguards on duty in summer, are cordoned off from the rest of the lake. See how many laps you can breast stroke along the perimeter—or join the other UV-ray seekers plopped along the water’s edge like so many napping sea lions. Madison Park Beach, 206-684-7796; seattle.gov/parks/

Shilshole Bay Marina, Seattle
Sail away
On sunny summer days, the colorful boats crowding the bays and lakes inevitably induce an unbearable case of sailing envy. Whether you lust for a leisurely cruise around Lake Union or the tilting thrill of high-speed catamaran racing on the Pacific Ocean, all you really need to start sailing is a good friend who owns a good boat. No skippers in your circle of friends? Meet your new nautical chums at the Seattle Sailing Club, a local group teeming with ready-to-launch boats. Members have access to the sailing club’s fleet of 22- to 36-foot vessels and don’t have to deal with the hassles of moorage or maintenance or navigation. Besides, the club will teach you to be your own captain. Lessons range from basic cruising to coastal navigation and racing skills and tactics. Seattle Sailing Club, 202-782-5100; seattlesailing.com

Leavenworth, Washington
A river roars, sprays, and bucks through it
They call it the Suffocator. By the time you look down onto it, you’ve survived Satan’s Eyeball, Rodeo Hole, and Drunkard’s Drop, three exhilarating sets of rapids on a popular Whitewater Rafting stretch of the Wenatchee River between Leavenworth and Monitor. In high-flow conditions during the spring, the Suffocator acts like a natural roller coaster, developing into a huge breaking wave that drops you into a nasty hole afterward. Experienced rafters (or kayakers) can pilot it on their own, but even newbies can chart these waters with local guides like Blue Sky Outfitters. Blue Sky Outfitters, 206-938-4030; blueskyoutfitters.com

Westport, Washington
No, it really was that big
Just as the sound of the sea lapping at the boat hull lulls you into a mesmerized state of relaxation, there’s a sudden, forceful tug on your line. You bolt out of the deck chair and grab rod and reel, only to feel whatever you’ve just snagged swimming away. This is the defining moment of deep-sea fishing—your heart races and you’re astonished at the effort required to reel a 20-pound fish back to the boat. Set out with Westport’s Deep Sea Charters for the salmon season, from early June to late July; the amicable crew will help you reel in the big ones and fillet them for fresh sashimi on deck or a family fish-fry back home. Deep Sea Charters, 360-268-9300; deepseacharters.biz

Image: Brian Aurich

Posey Island, San Juan
Paddle to paradise
Posey Island is a versatile sea kayak stopover spot in the San Juans. This tiny one-acre dot of land not far from Roche Harbor is a marine park with just 1,000 feet of shoreline and two rugged camping spots allocated for nonmotorized boat access. Because you can only get there via paddle boat, it’s a quiet oasis in summer, when big-boat tours pack the waterways. Commercial kayaking companies often use it as a rest stop on whale-watching tours well-suited to beginners, and experienced paddlers prepared to pack their own camping gear will find that, come sunset, they’ll practically have the place to themselves. Arrive early, though; reservations aren’t available. Posey Island State Park, parks.wa.gov/

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Image: Smithrock.com

EARTH

Olympic National Park, Washington
I’m warning you, I’ll turn this llama right around!
Tackling outdoor adventures with kids might rank alongside a lawn picnic in hell, but Bob Shapiro at Deli Llama Wilderness Adventures gets you and yours into high-alpine wilderness so easily you won’t even have to ply junior with idle threats. And Shapiro and his crew make the journey so fun the kids won’t miss the Play-Station. By age seven, most kids do well paired up with the even-tempered, sure-footed llamas, which can carry up to 20 pounds of gear. Deli Llama boasts multiday hiking trips to areas like the Olympics, North Cascades, and Pasayten Wilderness. The guides take care of the food and logistics, and you get to actually enjoy hiking with your kids. Deli Llama Wilderness Adventures, 360-757-4212; delillama.com

Mount Si, North Bend, Washington
Take the easy way up
When it comes to hiking it’s no state secret that few local peaks match Mount Si in proximity, breathtaking viewpoints, or heart-poundingly cruel steepness. Come summer this relentless trail just outside North Bend is a crowded, alpine highway. But here’s a little known tip: You can log the same 3,700-foot vertical climb and revel in the same jaw-dropping scenery if you start instead at the Mount Teneriffe road just over a mile east of the Si trailhead. This lesser-known forest road (which is accessible with snowshoes in late fall through early spring) guides you above the Si summit, allowing you to skip the crowds and still snag views of Mount Rainier, Rattlesnake Lake, and Mount Washington. Mount Si, mountsi.com

Overachieving Seattleite

Wilderness Survival

Annie Thoe had never eaten ants before. “I was really hungry by that point,” she remembers. She was deep in the Cascades, with only a knife, a water bottle, and the clothes on her back. But she was there on purpose, taking a wilderness survival class from the Wilderness Awareness School. Contestants on Survivor have camera crews and an emergency satellite phone they can use if things really go sideways, but you won’t have those luxuries if your four-day backpacking trip finds you lost in the North Cascades and running out of food fast. “Now I know I could do it,” says Thoe. Even weekend warriors will benefit from the experience, but it does require an intermediate level of physical fitness. Try the School’s other classes such as Wildlife Tracking and Wild Edible and Medicinal Plants to round out your newfound survival skills. Wilderness Awareness School, 425-788-1301; wildernessawareness.org

Washington Park Arboretum, Seattle
Hug a tree
A nature walk in the Washington Park Arboretum isn’t quite on par with scaling Mount Rainier, but despite its middle-of-the-city locale—at the corner of Madison Street and Lake Washington Boulevard—the park has a middle-of-nowhere charm. Start your expedition of the 230-acre -botanical wonderland at the Japanese Tea Garden, for eye-popping petals and pagoda’s aplenty, before winding along the trails in the hardwood forest and getting lost among the park’s 20,000 trees, shrubs, and vines from around the world. Washington Park Arboretum, 206-543-8800; depts.washington.edu/wpa/general.htm

Discovery Park, Seattle
Spy like an eagle
You’ll never spot more than a pigeon by bird-watching downtown, but minutes away, in Magnolia’s sprawling 534-acre Discovery Park, keep a lookout for birds to add to your life list. The park is so vast and its terrain is so varied it could pass for a canyon in the Cascades. Make that several canyons in the Cascades. As you meander among the meadows, you dip into tree-lined forests, and, rather suddenly, catch eyefuls of the Sound. Watch for eagles, owls, and blue herons along the way. Discovery Park, 206-386-4236; cityofseattle.net/parks/environment/discovpark

Bend, Oregon
Tuff stuff
Every outdoor sport has its mecca. For rock climbing that place is Smith Rock, about 20 miles north of Bend, Oregon. It offers legendarily grippy rock formations thanks to abundant tuff (compressed and cemented volcanic ash) from nearby Mount Bachelor, and plenty of climbing opportunities for beginners. And yes, there’s also one of the sport’s most difficult climbs: Just Do It, a super steep route best left for the pros. The sun blazes hot in summer, so plan to climb in the early morning or evening hours. Smith Rock State Park, 541-548-7501; smithrock.com

Mount Rainier, Washington
A cliff with a view
Palisades trail, a classic mountain bike ride off Highway 410 outside Greenwater, mixes hair-raising technical singletrack with some of the most impressive views of Mount Rainier in the state. After six miles and 1,600 feet of forest-road climbing, you plunge into high-alpine forest on the swooping Ranger Creek trail, arriving at a log-cabin shelter where the trail splits; from there, follow the Palisades trail off to your right. Here it really gets interesting: The singletrack zigzags through dense trees, repeatedly shooting you out on top of the trail’s namesake cliffs, where you come face to face with Mount Rainier across the White River valley. Survive the steep, rocky switchbacks toward the end, and you’ll find yourself back on Highway 410 with wobbly knees and an ear-to-ear smile. Visit the Backcountry Bicycle Trails Club site for driving directions and route details. Bicycle Trails Club, bbtc.org/wiki/index.php?title=trail:palisades

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Image: ATV Action Tours

Gold Bar, Washington
It’s a mud, mud, mud world
Mud is a fact of life in the Northwest, one many of us prefer to keep our Tevas out of. But to off-road quad riders (think of a rugged dirt-bike with four wheels instead of two), mud is the secret ingredient for a truly great day on the trails. "The mud was the highlight," says Trinity Osborn of her first quad trip in the Gold Bar area with ATV Action Tours. "That and going fast." A quick training session gets newcomers riding beginner to intermediate trails in short order. When the trail turns to mud, aim straight for the middle, and full speed ahead. ATV Action Tours, 206-369-5732; atvactiontours.com

Index, Washington
Extreme slip ‘n’ slide
Dave Haavik and friends have formed their own secret otter society, plummeting into remote creeks and rivers, melding hiking, climbing, and swimming into a unique sport called canyoneering. "It’s like being a kid again," says Haavik, a sales rep for the climbing-gear company Petzl. "And you get to go to places that almost no one else has ever seen." But it’s not something you can safely jump into on your own. Take an introductory class from Mountain Madness this August, where you’ll learn climbing basics and essential skills like rappelling, knot tying, and safe navigation in fast-moving water. Befriend a more experienced canyoneer at CanyoneeringNorthwest.com, and head to Silver Creek off Highway 2 near Index, Washington, for your first outing. Mountain Madness, 206-937-8389; mountainmadness.com

Vancouver Island, British Columbia
The 2.5-acre jungle gym
Think romping around an obstacle course is just for kids? Don’t tell Jeff Millar, a 62-year-old PR exec from Victoria. Millar went wild when he visited the giant jungle gym 90 minutes north of Victoria on British Columbia’s Vancouver Island. He went especially gaga for the TreeGo course: a series of four progressively more difficult routes through the trees using rope swings, scrambling walls, hanging nets, wobbly bridges, swinging logs, and zip lines. After that, there’s the option to do the Canyon Zip, a supersize zip line that traverses the Nanaimo River Canyon. "We did that one six times!" laughs Millar. Wild Play Element Park, 888-668-7874; wildplayparks.com

Blue Mountains, Washington
A tepee to call your own
Standing at 4,500 feet atop Puffer Butte, the ground falls away in endless small rippling hills, then plunges suddenly into the Grande Ronde River, a tributary of Idaho’s Snake River. Bright blue skies looming over arid, dry rolling hills—to a -Seattleite that doesn’t seem like an apt description of Washington. Yet this often-overlooked nook of our state, tucked in the very southeast corner in the Blue Mountains, offers outstanding camping, hiking, and high-desert scenery with far fewer crowds. Complete your escape (and leave the fancy REI nylon tent at home) by booking one of the Fields Spring State Park’s two tepees. These unique bare-bones canvas shelters are located in a quiet, secluded area of the park and sleep six people on raised wooden floors. Field Spring State Park, 509-256-3332; parks.wa.gov/parkpage

Siskiyou Mountains, Oregon
Treetop vacation
Who needs boring old earth when you can bring camping to a new level? Out ‘n’ About Treesort in the Siskiyou Mountains of southwest Oregon elevates guests in 11 custom-built tree houses, each with its own configuration of platforms, decks, bridges, and rope swings. For the resort’s most high-rise experience, book either the Treezebo or the Forestree cabin, 37 feet off the ground, and accessed via suspended bridge. After playing Swiss Family Robinson and falling asleep to the sounds of the forest and dreaming under the stars, strike out during the day for hiking, rafting, or horseback riding. Out ‘n’ About Treesort, 541-592-2208; treehouses.com/treehouse/treesort/

Woodland Park, Seattle
Trail surfing
Mountain boarding is an odd mutt of a sport: Riders pilot a wide plank that resembles a long board (an elongated skateboard suited for high-speed cruising), with chunky wheels and suspension like a mountain bike, and bindings to keep them strapped in, as with a snowboard. A mountain board can blaze through almost any terrain, from pavement to grassy hills and craggy rock-strewn mountain bike trails. In-the-know boarders hit Woodland Park, which sports nearly all of those surfaces. Boards available at Alki Bike and Board, 206-938-3322; www.alkibikeandboard.com

Leavenworth, Washington
A ride called horse
There’s no shame in taking the pack off your back and saddling up for a horseback adventure. Free of the extra weight, you’re able to cover more ground, savor far-off vistas, or watch wildlife without worrying where your next step will be. Book a trip with Leavenworth-based Icicle Outfitters and Guides, and they’ll get you into true wilderness and do all the hard work for you. The human members of the outfit will even cook you their legendary food. Day trips are perfect for families with young kids, and repeat clients glow about the Ride to the Sky trip, a four-day outing that takes you through the Entiat’s North Fork valley to the summit of Pyramid Mountain. Equine veterans and novices alike are welcome, and the outfitters will also customize just about any kind of trip you can dream up. Icicle Outfitters and Guides, 800-497-3912; www.icicleoutfitters.com

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Image: Skydive Kapowsin

AIR

Issaquah, Washington
Not just for the birds
No one’s done a scientific study yet, but paragliding may be the sport with the quickest transition from expletive spewing to declarations of awe. Strap into the harness and parachute-like glider, run down the side of a mountain until you’re aloft, and see how fast your "oh shits" turn to "oh look at thats." Seattle Paragliding in Issaquah gets you off the ground with tandem lessons, where you take your first few flights tucked in front of an experienced pilot like a baby kangaroo. Once airborne, you’ll catch sight of Mount Rainier, the Olympic peaks, Puget Sound, and yes, the Fraternity Snoqualmie Nudist Park a few miles south. Seattle Paragliding, 206-387-3477; seattleparagliding.com

Lake Union, Seattle
Your own private airline
A seaplane ride is one of the few adventures that’s even more amazing than it looks. You ascend from Lake Union, survey Puget Sound, and step out (in some cases minutes later) at a gorgeous destination. Put on your best pair of aviator sunglasses and tell the pilot to aim for the San Juans for hiking or kayaking, or strike further a field to Vancouver Island for Canadian adventures. Once the engine rumbles and your plane teeters off the water, we dare you not to utter the word "awesome" numerous times during the flight. Kenmore Air, 425-486-1257; kenmoreair.com

Shelton, Washington
Like D. B. Cooper but without, you know, taking hostages
"You’re so high up," says 21-year-old Brianne Hartinger, who took her first skydive last summer at Skydive Kapowsin in Shelton. "You can see everything right before you jump, even the curvature of the earth." If that image doesn’t terrify you, odds are you’re a good match for skydiving too. Jumps typically start at 9,000 feet (usually in tandem with an instructor for newcomers), and once you push out of the plane, you free-fall for half a minute or more at 120 miles per hour. Hartinger plans to go again this summer: "It was the most thrilling thing I’ve ever done." Skydive Kapowsin, 800-759-3483; skydivekapowsin.com

Amboy, Washington
Go jump off a bridge
On his first bungee jump eight years ago, Russell Boland, a construction project manager from Eugene, Oregon, said his mind convinced him he was going to die. "The adrenaline rush is so intense that some people say strange things on their way down, their body goes through crazy contortions," he recalls. The man upstairs tends to be frequently name-checked as people hurtle toward the ground. "And then when you spring back up, you are giggling and elated." He jumps regularly now in Amboy, Washington, just northeast of Vancouver, at Bungee.com, which operates the tallest private bungee-jumping bridge in the country, with 191 feet of free-falling, screamingly good fun. Bungee.com, 503-520-0303

Image: Riley Lassler

Snohomish Valley, Washington
Full of hot air
Scott "Gonzo" Gates, a Kirkland-based design engineer treated his wife to a 10th wedding anniversary surprise: A hot-air balloon flight. "The scenery was stunning, and our guide really made the experience memorable." From just over 1,000 feet off the ground, as the couple surveyed 360-degree views of Snohomish farmland, snowcapped mountains, and Puget Sound, they spotted a pair of blue herons gliding beneath the balloon. Book a group sunrise tour during late fall or winter—the group rate is considerably lower than the private rate—and odds are good you’ll have the balloon to yourselves. Airial Balloon, 360-568-3025; airialballoon.com

Elliott Bay, Seattle
Be a human kite
Entertaining out-of-towners? For a quick adventure that beats the rain slickers off the Needle or EMP, cajole your friends down to Pier 66 for an afternoon of parasailing. Strap into a harness and parachute, let the boat tug you along above Elliott Bay, and ride the wind like a kite. It’s a vacation in the sky. "Locals often overlook this touristy option," says U District resident Dave Hogan, "but it’s really a fun get-together." It requires little physical skill yet yields big adventure and unmatched Seattle skyline and Puget Sound views. Pier 66 Parasail, 206-622-5757

Overachieving Seattleite

Adventure Racing

You like to dabble: Last year it was learning to kayak, this year mountain biking caught your eye. What may seem like ADD to your friends is really your body’s way of saying that you should be adventure racing. Teams (usually between two and four people) combine trekking, running, biking, kayaking, and climbing with wilderness orienteering skills and the ability to go without sleep for days. Adventure races have few rules and are hosted on nearly every continent, but leave the GPSat home—teams use maps and a compass to navigate successive checkpoints across rugged terrain, in many cases for multiple days in a row. Start small and stay local with low-key, Seattle-based BEAST races, which offer introductory single-day events that aren’t as gear-intensive, and the option for individuals to tag along with a pro team to learn the ropes. BEAST, 206-979-8856; beastrace.com

Paradise Redone

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 15:41:00 -0800

Image: Elizabeth Lawley

AT PARADISE, WHICH, which, let’s face it, is where we all deserve to be, I stood on one end of the mezzanine of the long, woody lodge admiring a superstructure of peeled Douglas fir logs that frame the rafters of the 1917 structure. “If you were going to count this truss alone, you’d find 70 logs,” said Ken Hardy, foreman of the construction crew that rebuilt Paradise Inn over the last two years. And if I were going to count all the logs in the whole building, starting with the stump mailbox and 1,500-pound tables in the lobby and the pine-branch headboards in the guest rooms…well, I can’t count that high. Suffice it to say that the bare logs and frontier decor are a considerable part of what makes the inn special, not to mention the location, seemingly at the top of Planet Washington.

The venerable old hostelry reopened in May at the 5,400-foot level of Mount Rainier National Park, making it the highest lodging on the mountain and a great base for exploring Rainier’s network of trails and alpine meadows. Twenty-one miles from the southwest entrance to the park, and 85 miles from downtown Seattle, the inn has been closed for repairs for the last two seasons; a horrific windstorm in November 2006 caused havoc on the roads and made access to the park difficult until May 2007. Crews have been trying to catch up with maintenance to everything from roads to campgrounds, and this season marks the first time that Mount Rainier looks ready again for the crowds who come from everywhere—Germany, New Zealand, Japan, Puyallup—to enjoy the park.

Image: Deby Dixon

It is to the inn’s massive lobby that thousands of hikers repair every year to get out of bad weather, or get a cup of coffee, or just relax before or after hitting the trails. The room is flanked by tall stone fireplaces and decorated with even more natural wood furniture—including a piano cabinet, all done in logs and varnished wood, that Grizzly Adams might have owned.

Renovations to the inn have almost entirely been structural: Bracing it, taking apart the fireplaces stone by stone to fortify and bring them up to code (some of the stones in the dining room still had their chalk numbers when I was there), and creating ADA-compliant rooms.

Of course, the whole point of Paradise is to get outside and soak up some of the best alpine scenery in the world.

The 118 guest rooms are simple and spare and small, but perfect sanctuaries after a long day on the mountain. The restaurant dishes up surprisingly elegant fare, including elk roulades, good and flavorful salmon cakes, coq au vin, a pork chop stuffed with sweet onions, and the inn’s signature bourbon buffalo meatloaf that has been on the menu since the beginning of time and is, in the words of one diner, paradise on a plate.

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Image: Steve Rinn

There’s no escaping nature at the inn. Wildflower-motif lampshades from artist Dale Thompson hang from the rafters. It’s fun to wander the mezzanine with a pamphlet in hand from the gift shop and study up on Thompson’s yellow Columbia lilies and bright pink Lewis monkey flowers, which are two of the 64 flowers depicted on the shades.

Image: Chris Roberts

Of course, the whole point of Paradise is to get outside and soak up some of the best alpine scenery in the world. The surrounding meadows are covered by dozens of species of real wildflowers—including white, four-petal Canadian dogwood and lavender, star-shaped candy flower. Plus, there are 246 miles of trails in the park, and Paradise serves as a nexus for many of them. The Nisqually Vista Trail, which begins just west of the Henry M. Jackson Memorial Visitor Center, a short walk from the inn, is an easy, 1.2-mile loop, with elevation gains of 300 to 500 feet, that takes in views of the mountain’s summit and the Nisqually Glacier. A more strenuous hike begins further down the mountain at the Longmire museum and ascends 1,700 feet over nine miles as you make your way to broad Narada Falls, which cascade some 160 feet down a sheer cliff. Serious hikers take on the 93-mile long Wonderland Trail circles the top of the mountain, with campgrounds (reservations from the National Park Service are a must) along the way. A note to pet owners: Dogs are not allowed on the trails, even on leashes, nor are they allowed to stay in your room at the inn.

Climbers go into thin air with the assistance of mountain guide companies. A popular Mount Rainier climbing package is Alpine Ascents’ three-day Muir Climb up Ingraham Glacier and Disappointment Cleaver that begins with a camp on the first night at 10,000-foot Camp Muir, acclimatization and a move to a second camp a thousand feet higher on the second night, and a summit try on the third day. Because of its easy access and 26 named glaciers, Rainier is a trophy ascent for climbers, and a necessary stepping-stone to bigger peaks like Mount Everest and Alaska’s Mount McKinley.

Image: David Nash

All of which, I’ll be honest, fatigues me to just think about, so it’s back to the Paradise Inn. A new snack bar off the lobby is serving espresso and panini, and a guy on the knotty-pine piano is banging out “Stairway to Heaven.” Interest in the inn has been strong since it reopened, and according to reservations manager Pam Newlun, the lines were ringing off the hook when they opened this spring. “Our biggest fear going into the renovation was that people would forget,” she said. That clearly hasn’t happened, and although reservations may be hard to come by on short notice, keep trying. Cancellations are frequent and it is possible to snag a spot at the inn in summer, particularly weekdays.

So meet me at the Monkey flowers, baby. And if that isn’t your vision of Paradise, not to worry. There’s a wildflower for everyone this summer on Mount Rainier.

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