Once more, up and at ‘em, I reclaimed my road for Cliffdell, the happy hamlet that lay ahead. Inside this town I was awaiting the promise I’d seen coming out of Yakima of a place called Whistlin’ Jacks Lodge. When I found it I was quite surprised, it was much fancier than I’d imagined.
Coming in through the lobby I was received by Shirlee, the receptionist. She saw me and figured I wasn’t a vagabond, but a man on a mission and began asking me questions about what I was up to. To her delight her notions were right. Guided to an elaborate table tucked in the corner with a view of the Naches streaming beyond a fountained garden and the lovely arranged lodge area I was served coffee. There Shirlee sat with me to provide advice for the coming road. The meal and conversation were absolutely wonderful discussing the secrets of Rt. 410 over four star scrambled eggs and hash browns on fine china.
As I wrapped up my meal, and Shirlee went back to work having scooted back several times amusingly during our discussion, I was hailed again by another adventurer. Two guys had come in for breakfast, Rich and Eric, and sought an explanation for my large pack. We talked over tables for a bit then I joined them with my remaining toast and coffee. Rich was Eric’s father and was dropping him off at the Pacific Crest ahead for a few days of hearty hiking. Part of a patchwork completion of the trail through Washington before a possible full on go at it through Oregon and California. We had a good time talking things over before they had to push on and I realized how long I’d been lingering.
We split ways and I left money for my bill before heading to do my bathrooming things. When I returned my money was still in the check holder but had been moved around some. I noticed it a bit confused then the waitress cleared it up. Eric had treated me. Thank you greatly, sir. I left a sizeable tip instead and shoved off to see the famous Chinook Pass I’d been hearing about. As I was leaving I lingered a bit to say goodbye to Shirlee since she was on the phone. When I realized she’d be a while I began to leave. She put the guy on hold to give me a proper goodbye which truly surprised me, then insisted I call her from Seattle to make sure she knows I got in.
The day was yet another gorgeous one. The trees swarmed the road even more providing the blanket of shade I adore most of the way. Jagged mountain peaks and varying rivers continued to line my path entertaining my dreamy mind for the length of the day. Slowly the road inclined but it wasn’t until the last five miles that I really took note. Chinook Pass’ crowning finish.
As the sun began its decent in the last few hours of the day the road rose to meet it. Climbing up over the trees the right side steepened into cliffs dripping trickles of little streams beneath lush green bushes while to the left the ground dropped out about 800 or 900 feet to a view of the jagged ridges across the valley. A rock wall like those of European visions lined the way to the top as sun strips laid beams over the western mountain tips. The near full moon spoke out on the opposing side through the day lit dusking sky jumping between peaks in its rise for nights coming. As I neared the top of this vision the mist of the rivers and the day’s head showed its layers through the valleys as I rose above it.
At the very top was the wood log gateway to Mt. Rainier Park and the crossing point of the Pacific Crest where Eric had hopped on that morning. A perfect spot sat by the roads edge for me where I could lay my tent out facing east looking over the valley below. I crawled in with the top open and looked over my maps for the few days I had left ahead.