Hiking Out of My League

Your flight from Vermont to Seattle was a bit bumpy and long. Last year, you planned this hike in Mount Rainier National Park. After an overnight near SeaTac Airport, you head south alone in a rented jeep. You may want to go off-road during your trip, so you paid extra for the 4-wheel jeep. One thing you didn’t count on was the heavy traffic and the slowdowns through the small towns along the two-lane road.

As you drive toward the southeast entrance, you pass through the small town of Enumclaw. Most people go through Ashford, where the Whittaker Hotel, named after the famous mountaineers, is located. You took this route to hike near Ohanapecosh and see the enormous old-growth trees in the Grove of the Patriarchs. This mountain area is a completely different landscape from Vermont, but you have your backpack and tent and plan to hike ten miles per day. You are fit and have hiked all over Vermont's mountains.

At the Deer Creek Trailhead Park gate, the ranger asks for your ID and explains the park fees. You buy the National Park Pass so you can visit more parks this year. The ranger notes your planned hike and tells you to watch the weather. You grin at her and let her know you are experienced and fully equipped. She looks out her window into the back of the jeep, gives you a hard look, then waves you on.

On your drive from the airport, you get breathtaking views of the Mountain’s glacier-covered peak, which rises straight from the ground to over 14,000 feet. You're glad you chose an early September weekday morning with fewer visitors and less traffic, and you congratulate yourself. A few cumulus clouds fill the sky, but above Mount Rainier’s peak, you spot what you learned is a lenticular cloud. 

Your tent is inside the backpack you strap on. The day is warm enough to make you sweat, at least until you reach the towering trees, where it cools considerably. When you enter a clearing, you see the clouds have built up, and you can no longer see the top of Mt. Rainier. The countryside is enchanting, with Douglas squirrels chattering above you, announcing your presence to the forest. “Look out; he’s coming!” Brilliant blue Steller’s Jays squawk, and you hear the occasional raven.

Your stomach growls, so you stop to eat one of your four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and swig an electrolyte drink. Back on the trail, you reach a fork in the path; both trails look well worn. When you reach for the map, it’s not in your pocket; you left it in the jeep when you grabbed your hiking poles. Your phone’s GPS no longer connects, so you take a shot and turn right, believing the Grove is below you and that angling that way will lead you to it. It is only ten a.m.; there’s plenty of time since the sun doesn’t set until 8.

The trail has become more overgrown and harder to navigate. You wonder if you took a wrong turn, but turning back is a bad option. Your Fitbit says you have hiked six miles, so it shouldn’t be far to the split to the Eastside Trail. After two more hours, you realize you are not on the correct trail. The temperature has dropped about ten degrees. It’s noon, and sprinkles are landing on your head. You squint up and see a mostly gray sky, with cumulus clouds building. You try your phone again, but luck is against you. No GPS or signal to call.

Your brain is rattled, and your instincts tell you to keep moving. You have gear to make it through; you brought a tent and food.

Your feet splash through the water as you look around. The river has changed course and covered the trail. This is definitely not the right way, or the Ranger would have warned you. If you turn around now, you will never reach your goal. Keep straight on. Move, move, move! Why are you panicking? You have a tent and food, don’t you? You set your poles down and take off your backpack. Inside, there is another electrolyte drink and the tent, but no more food. You can’t imagine what happened to your other sandwiches. 

The drops hitting your head now, you realize, are sleet, not rain. Looking down the path, you can’t see far ahead. The trees are turning white, and you realize your fingers are cold. You dig in your pocket for your gloves and panic. Where are they? Not in your coat or pants, and they weren’t in your backpack. You start hiking faster, skipping and jogging, then walking. You speed up, try to get GPS, and realize it’s hopeless. Snow is coming down now, and you are scared. Wait, you are NOT giving in to fear. You’re an experienced hiker. You know Vermont like the back of your hand. Your internal voice shouts, “You idiot, this isn’t Vermont. Mount Rainier is known for its unstable weather. You didn’t prepare for Rainier.” You scream, “SHUT UP.” Your voice echoes through the forest canopy.

Your arm is covered in snow. You can’t see the sky. You pitch your tent quickly and scold yourself for not bringing more layers and waterproof gear. Your hands are red and numb, and you struggle to light your heater. The realization sinks in: your matches aren't waterproof, and you don't have a lighter. Your spirits sink, yet you still have hope. You’re inside the tent, waiting it out.

You fall asleep, and when you wake, you realize it has snowed so much that the tent’s roof is caving in. You peek outside, and the world is white except for your blue tent. The snow is at least six inches deep. You didn’t bring boots; your gloves are missing; you can’t light the stove; your phone is useless; and you have no food. You kick yourself for being so cocky, so stupid. With snow covering the path, you have no chance of retracing your steps. Every article you read about Mount Rainier warned you to be prepared.

You look outside again and groan as more snow falls. The silence of the deep mountain forest would calm you in different circumstances. Now you are encased in an icy prison; you don’t dare try to escape. Sitting in the dark tent, you wonder if anyone will search for you. You filed your route with the ranger, but who will report you missing? You kick yourself for this mistake, too.

You can’t warm up, but at least the hunger has stopped. You take a fistful of snow and lick it to quench your thirst. You start sorting through your backpack, looking for flares. You find…a tiny Tootsie Roll and pop it into your mouth.

No flares, no signal, no GPS, no gloves, no food, no layers, no waterproof clothes, no matches, no lighter, no snow boots, no map.

You are fucked.

                 Copyright © 10/6/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin 

A/N: Mount Rainier is beautiful but there are deaths every year. Climbers or hikers.

A ranger was murdered in 2012: