3 Days of Wonder at Mt. Rainier – Summerland to Cowlitz Divide
For the last backpacking trip of 2026, I scored permits to visit two of the most popular backcountry camps at Mt. Rainier National Park. My Dad and I hiked from White River to Box Canyon via Summerland, Indian Bar, and Cowlitz Divide.
We are hiking through yet another stunning high alpine meadow alight with rays of low afternoon sunshine. All day, the sun and clouds raced each other across the sky and shadows flitted across the landscape. At times it felt like a toddler had discovered the cosmic light switch, so sudden and dramatic were the changes in brightness every time the sun won the race around a chunky cloud. I smile and laugh aloud as I walk along a ridgeline, chasing a line of shadow running ahead of me.
When my Dad and I stop for a break, we look out at a dusty blue valley of peaks topped by Mt. Adams in one direction. And in the other, a little window opens between layers of grey and white to reveal the unmistakable patterns of blue ice on Mt. Rainier. The mountain is making its own weather today, and it is a dramatic and joyous and stunningly beautiful day even if we can’t see the whole mountain.
While we eat lunch sheltered from the wind behind scrubby trees, Dad looks out at the view and says “this has to be one of our best backpacks ever. The views, the great campsites, the trail, and the hikes we’ve done each day were just amazing.” While my Dad and I have hiked to many incredible places, but I have to agree. There was just something magical about every day, every hour, of this trip traversing the forests and high trails of Mt. Rainier National Park.
The adventure began five days before, when I hopped onto the wilderness permitting website (recreation.gov) and looked for available permits, as I do most weeks. I’ve been trying for a Summerland camp permit all season, and was shocked to see two nights available. And then scrolling down, I saw something that was never available in all my months of looking; a single night at Indian Bar camp. With only four campsites the permits are always taken, and I think they are the most coveted camps because of the location and the optimal placement for hikers who are doing the entire Wonderland Trial that circumnavigates the mountain. But, with the northern side of the loop closed due to wildfire, and an imperfect weather forecast, there was miraculously a spot available. I hurriedly stowed the permits in my cart and was so relieved when I got the confirmation email.
This is an area of Mt. Rainier that I’ve wanted to return to for many, many years. Way back in 2008, my Dad, uncle Paul, and cousin Valerie and I tried to hike the 90 mile Wonderland trail. We got partway around before the bad weather moved in. This was before Inreach devices and satellite messaging, so we just kept hiking, even though the weather was tumultuous and rainy, since my Mom was meeting us at a prearranged resupply point and we were too far along that segment to hike back. The weather went from bad to worse. It rained many inches each day. The trail became a creek, and our gear failed. Boots leaked, tent leaked, pack covers were mostly useless... I remember both having the time of my life, and marveling at both how much rain could fall in one day and how much harder it made backpacking. During our last evening on trail at Nickel Creek camp we could fill up our pot from the water running off the tent like a spigot.
A few images from the 2008 trip! Notice all the waterfalls going into Indian Bar. Top image was on the way to Cowlitz divide when we finally got a short-lived break in the weather.
Halfway around the mountain, we met my mom for the resupply, and being the experienced hiker and support crew she is, she’d called the ranger station. A key bridge had washed out in the flood waters ahead of us, which made the rest of the journey unsafe. I remember being sad about missing the remainder of the hike, and also feeling relieved to no longer be hiking in the rain.
Ever since then, I’ve wanted to return to the terrain we covered on the last days in 2008, when we couldn’t see much through the rain and clouds and wind. I don’t remember much from that day of hiking from Summerland to Nickel Creek. Just snippets; the rocky trail below Panhandle gap becoming a creek and feeling the cold water slosh in my boots. My uncle being blown over by the wind at Panhandle Gap. Timing our crossing of the log bridge between wind gusts, bracing in the middle of the bridge, and my Dad's relief when I made it across. Wringing water out of my socks at the Indian bar camp shelter. And the next day sitting under the interpretive kiosk at Box Creek, eating a donut and egg sandwich courtesy of my Mom while watching the rain stream down the rocky slope and plink into the puddles at our feet.
Eighteen years later, Dad and I were finally headed back.
My mom was also once again instrumental in this trip, as she graciously helped us set up the car shuttle so we could hike from point to point. On the drive down the road is wet from the recent early fall rain that cleared smoke out of the air and left the trees covered in dewdrops. We make good time, and drop a car off at the ending point (Box Canyon) and then drive back north to pick up permits and begin the hike to Summerland.
This section of trail is always wonderful, and Mom join us for the first few forested miles meandering along Fryingpan Creek. Late in the year like this, the low angle sunshine seems to just glow through the green hemlock and fir boughs above and turns the trailing pale lichen into glowing garlands in the branches. Road construction adds an extra mile or so to this part of the hike, but I didn’t mind; it is so beautiful. We take our time to notice all the small details of the forest. Moss alight with color after the recent rain with tiny mushrooms nestled next to one-inch-tall baby trees. Little pops of color with ground-dwelling plants turning red for the fall. The way the sunlight makes my Dad’s hat glow in the distance like a cartoon halo.
All too soon the flat and smooth trail heads uphill, and it was time for Mom to turn around, and we hug her a grateful goodbye. Without her generosity of time we wouldn’t be able to do this itinerary – thank you Mom!
As we trudge uphill, we both comment on how remarkably smooth and well maintained the trail is. Few rocks and roots and a consistent well-designed grade make for such pleasant hiking. At this point the trail ascends 2,000 or so feet in a very consistent way up switchbacks and contours through the forest. Some of the corners turn above a cliff and a steep gorge with the creek rushing below. And one of my favorite things about this path is how you gradually transition from one mountain zone to the next. Forest, then patches of meadow plants and bushes in avalanche paths, then smaller trees and views of surrounding peaks, and eventually subalpine and alpine meadows.
Before we start the final ascent to Summerland we stumble on one of the most magical scenes I've seen in a long time. The prior evening's light rain and heavy dewfall evaporated from most places along the trail.... except for a shaded little glade that must only see sun in the afternoon. Every plant, every branch, every single leaf and blade of grass is coated in sparkling drops of crystalline water. Looking at the sparkling constellation contained in just one tree feels the same as tilting my head to the sky on a clear evening and noticing how more and more stars become visible as my eyes adjust in awe.
I wander from tree to tree, taking photos and gently tapping a branch to watch the little droplets sparkle to the earth below. I have no idea how long I spend wandering around this meadow just observing, and hoping that some of the photos might convey a tiny sliver of the magic we got to see here.
At the top of the meadow we see a brief view of Mr. Rainier through the clouds. The glaciers are brilliantly white in stripes next to the blue ice- fresh snow! The clouds return quickly and we hike up to their bottoms, looking at the landscape alternately revealed and hidden in the distance.
Then, Summerland! Arriving in the meadow is like a little like coming home to a place that's been cherished for many years. Even after day hiking here many times before (we estimated we've hiked in here 8-10 times), it still feels special, especially since so much time passed since our last visit.
And we are so much later in the year than our usual day hikes; the green meadows are brilliantly gold, accented by the small red blueberry bushes. Like many other places in the park, we do not see a single blueberry, as it was a bad year for the plants. The ranger told us that the bears are much more active throughout the park as a result, looking for trash and hunting marmots with their favorite fall food of berries missing this season.
Even though the permit system is hard to work with sometimes, when looking for a campsite we are always grateful for it. We know we are guaranteed a spot. With few other parties tucked in for the evening yet, we have time to wander around and look at most of the sites. All of them are nice, and well spread out which is always appreciated. We settle on site #4, which had a big flat area and is well sheltered from the light breeze. With a colder night forecast, we choose a sheltered spot over a site with a peekaboo view of Rainier.
Once the tent is set up we wander down to the meadow's edge for a snack. The clouds are miraculously clearing by the minute... and the sun starts going down, fast. I always forget how rapidly sunset happens this time of year, and I really want to paint the view now that the mountain was fully visible with lovely puffy clouds hiding behind the closer in ridgelines and trees. I hurriedly pull out my painting and filming kits, set up the small camera, and get to work.
Summerland has been on my to-paint list since I founded the Adventure Art Academy in 2021. It holds so many memories, and I am so grateful I have just enough time to paint here. The low angle of the sun makes looking at the peak incredibly difficult as I try to sketch the outline, and it is an odd relief when the sun finally disappears behind Little Tahoma, even though the temperature begins to drop immediately. I paint the view as I saw it when I first began- with the meadow awash in evening golds and long shadows that I paint with pure Indanthrone Blue. Hints of purple in the rocks and the mountain backlit a cobalt hue more vibrant than the sky. There were little clouds at the base of the peak too, but they end up blending into the rest of my painting because once the sun is down, the dew arrives immediately.
Everything is getting damper and damper, and my dry time becomes longer and longer, and the painting is now a race against the dew. Each layer takes longer to dry, and with each part of the painting completed I add another clothing layer to keep warm - wind shirt, jacket, fleece hat, neck gaiter... When it is time to paint the trees I am so nervous the mountain layers will not dry, but I am lucky! Even though the painting is now drooping like a soggy blanket, somehow the surface is just dry enough to add the tree lines and not have them fuzz into the wrong shape. Some of the trees do have soft edges, as the accumulated damp starts to move the paint, but I barely notice, as I'm just thrilled that I get to add them to the page at all! As soon as the last tree is done I snap photos and hurryit back to the tent to stop the dew and help it dry.
I am so happy with the painting! Sometimes I create something in the field and I have a very mixed reaction to it, often because it is hard to separate the challenge, stress, or hard conditions from the end result. Other paintings, like this one, just click at every step. Even when things like the clouds don't go as planned and edges in the mountain turn soft and hazy, sometimes those "errors" or changes driven by the environment around me end up making the painting even better. If you know what to look for, the fingerprints of this place are in the painting beside my own in those unique patterns and unexpected shifts in color and line.
With my mission for the evening complete I hurriedly change into warmer clothing as I became thoroughly chilled waiting for the layers to dry. I cozy up in my sleeping bag, write a few notes for the day, and preview the next sections of the route, already looking forward to what I'll see tomorrow.
Faint alpenglow on Little Tahoma, our camp (after the tent was taken down, I forgot to get a photo before!), and the dramatic early light from the Summerland meadows.
Day two begins with very faint pink light on the mountain above. While some of the new snow melted, there is still plenty left up high on the peak. It feels like a portent of the rapidly changing seasons. With the snow above, golden grass below, and cold air pooling in the valleys, we know to cherish this last window to backpack in the high country before winter sets in.
The clouds around the peak are all gone this morning, except a domed pancake of a lenticular cloud rushing over the summit. Our pace is slowed by the views. We watch shadows stretch like tiger strips across the meadow as we filter water. Celebrate the feeble and mildly warm first bit of sunshine to reach us above the ridges. We tilt hat brims low against the light and rub sunscreen into cold cheeks. Stop to notice the low angle light turn the edges of distant stones into brilliant rimmed lines of white.
Like the prior day, our trail this morning will carry us from one mountain zone to another. As we ascend, the golden meadow becomes more sparse as the grassy knolls steepen and more and more rocks occupy space between the plants. Trees shift from above head height to just a few feet tall.
With all the new snow we were worried before the trip about the creek crossing ahead- the meltwater can raise the level of Panhandle Creek later in the day. We planned for an earlier start so we could easily step across the water on rocks. The crossing is also a physical marker in this changing landscape. Looking back toward Summerland our eyes rove over the meadow and forest we hiked the day before. On the other side, ahead, the landscape quickly becomes a barren world of rock and vanishing ice. It is a post-glacial zone filled with peaks scoured by ice and piles of rocky rubble dropped in parallel mounds that echo the long ago path of the glaciers.
It's been a few years since I hiked this zone toward Panhandle Gap, and the difference ia striking. No more permanent snowfields, and the tiny remnant glaciers now sit above new meltwater ponds in shades of opaque blue and odd lichen green. Even amidst the barrenness and the the loss of the glaciers, there are still so many interesting and beautiful things to look at. I was enchanted by the swirling patterns in the ice. How did those form??? Our pace slows again to the meandering, observational, and focused speed we'd maintain for the next few hours as we headed over the gap and into "new" territory for us. The last time we hiked over Panhandle gap with full packs in 2008 we were in a whiteout and high winds.
Following the now much fainter trail over the pass was incredible. Below us the meadows roll downhill and into the valley in swales of golden grass with streams glowing in silver reflected sunlight. We didn't anticipate all the running water! Normally late in the season like this the little snowmelt streams are quiet, but the recent accumulation at the higher elevations filled them once more with water. As we traverse around the shoulder of the ridge we wind in an out of subtle gullies that each is alight with it's own soundscape from a little creek.
The zone below us is called Ohanepecosh park, and the steep meadows and flat plateau's above invite further exploration on a future trip! This entire zone is just unexpectedly amazing - even though Mt. Rainier is blocked by a sub-ridgeline, the views to our left are expansive and fascinating. Mt. Adams sits below a band of clouds with every layer of hills and ridges between us and the peak accentuated by accumulated haze. We even get glimpses of a farther south peak, Mt. Hood! To the south the skyline is dominated by the Goat Rocks- Old Snowy, Gilbert peak, and Johnson Mountain.
The zone we hike through is also unlike anything else we've traversed recently. The trail for a long time traverses right above tree and meadow-line. We wander in and out of barren volcanic basins with only tufts of grass amid rocks and pebbles. And then around the corner seasonal streams support trees and bushes. At our feet, the red stems of an unknown plant are caught against rocks and depressions, testament to the winds that scour this region.
In 2008 in this section we saw but mere glimpses of the ridges around us and everything was vibrantly green. I remember being so grateful for the break in the weather, even if it was still windy and cold. On our return journey this year we talk often about how nice it is to take our time, marveling at everything.
For hours we wander this incredible traversing trail across the shoulder of the mountain. We will only cover 5 miles today, but it was so varied and different.
The goal for the day is Indian Bar, the camping area beside the Ohanepecosh River. After our trail detours up and around a cliff band, it finally turns definitively down onto this long gentle ridge above the river valley. The trail follows this natural geologic feature down, with steep slopes on either side and the cliffs carved by river and ice filling the righthand view.
I remember just snippets of this section from our rainy trip years ago. Green Hellebore plants dripping into my boots. Clouds with little peeks of the icy ridge above. And waterfalls. Waterfalls everywhere. It felt like every rocky gully above the river was alive with a white ribbon. Some huge, others tiny. The valley was ringed in roaring grey tinsel hung from the cliffs.
Hiking into the valley this time the clefts in the rock are quiet, and just a handful are dyed dark with lingering moisture from the early season snow. Instead of lush greens the ridge is a cornucopia of bright falls colors brought to life by the afternoon sun. At this point we are are little tired and hungry, but still stop to notice the vibrant red blueberry bushes and talk about the crazy contrast of our visits to this place- a nice diversion from the many steep steps that lead to the valley floor.
From a long way up the hill we notice the stone group shelter in the valley below, and it gets bigger agonizingly slowly. We really should stop for lunch, but we want to get a good campsite, so we continue on. I grab a fig bar and oreos from my fanny pack and we play the eat-walk-big step-don't-fall game down the eroded steps.
Finally, we get to Indian Bar!!! And oh how different the experience it is this time. In 2008 the trail was completely consumed by the braiding creeks rushing into the valley, and it was not clear at all where the path went since it had turned into a raging creek. We ended up trying to cross one of the tributary streams and I remember throwing our packs across and jumping with the sound of rocks grinding into each other in the water beneath us. Of course, once across we wandered the gravel bar, got within sight of the shelter, but found a toerrential river between us, and realized that we'd missed the bridge. Back across the scary little stream we went, and then we walked through ankle deep "trail" a few hundred yards down valley to find the bridge. We were so relieved and very ready for a rest.
This time, it was clear where to go with no clouds in the valley, although the trail still overlapped with a small stream, highlighting how easy it would be to get confused here with water everywhere.
At Indian Bar the group campsite is at the shelter across the bridge, and the regular campsites are up the hill to the left. I knew a few of the folks who camped in the group site that night, and could see from across the valley that they had a hard time fitting all their tents- two in the shelter, two out front, and a few others on a sloped and barely usable area overlapping the trail. Few of the sites in the park are designed to fit a lot of tents!
Thankfully, this isn't a problem for my Dad and I, as we have just our single tent and the pick of the sites! There's only four, and all are decent! They are spread out over the spur trail quite a ways up the hill, with little signs marking each one. Our favorite was site #2, since it had a view and was farther from the river and the cold air that we know sinks into valleys at night. The other two sites are nice, and should fit 2 tents nicely, more than that could be a bit tricky depending on how big the tents are- you might end up doing some tent tetris. Especially since the park rangers have clearly closed off all auxiliary spots with sticks and rocks, something I saw on the west side of the mountain, too.
Dramatic clouds swirl around the ridge of Rainier when we first arrive at Indian bar camp. Later in the afternoon the sun would come out, and for hours we think the white top of Rainier barely visible is a cloud!
This is our first summer using the Durston x-dome 2+ tent, and so far we really like it! I'll have to write a review of it soon, but it is just the right size for us, feels spacious enough, and we love how with the solid interior you can zip closed all the mesh vents in the inner tent if desired.
In the evening we run into a backcountry ranger who is so kind, and we're glad to see her out here! And thank you rangers for doing all the hard work like cleaning the pit toilet seat and making sure everyone has permits. We appreciate you!
On the morning of day three I look outside the tent to see a mixed sky of blue and grey whisps that will build into dramatic clouds throughout the day. Dad and I enjoy a leisurely morning; after going to bed early and waking up equally early we have the whole day ahead of us. We can afford to make a hot breakfast and wait for the sun to grace camp before changing out of our warm layers.
Over breakfast Dad tells me about watching sunrise. He describes the valley east of us, and how in the distance there were treed ridgelines and rocky peaks and a low bank of clouds that the sun was just starting to peek above. He says "if this is what heaven looks like I'd be happy.... especially if there is powder skiing too!"
It is little moments like this that make backpacking so special, especially with family. My Dad is the one who really got me into backpacking, and I couldn't agree more with his thoughts. This year I will surpass 40 nights of backpacking for the summer and fall seasons, and I am so grateful for every trip, and for my Dad and Mom who got me outside as a kid.
After packing up camp we head over to the now empty group shelter and reminisce about how bad the weather was last time we were here! It's a chilly morning, but the valley feels peaceful and quiet, the river a gentle white noise instead of a commanding roar.
Our route today will take us up out of the Ohanepecosh river valley and onto the Cowlitz Divide, and we are both so excited to walk the ridgeline trail!
Leaving the old stone shelter we hike up a section of trail that was recently rebuilt! Trail crews replaced rotted boards with new easier stairs, and it is much easier than the trail the day before leading into Indian Bar. Once the initial climb up is done, I look behind me and yell "Dad turn around! You gotta look at this view, right now!" The clouds that obscure the mountain are not a complete cieling of grey - gaps let the sunlight through in a glowing searchlight that takes an already beautiful scene and makes it awesome in the most direct sense of the word - it is a sight of awe and wonder. The fast moving shadows are almost foreboding, but each is chased by bright light that brings out the joyful colors of the meadows. The mood of the landscape changes minute to minute, and we stand there transfixed and watch the light and shadow run up the glacier carved valley in rapid bands of silvery stone alternating with deep blue shadow.
This changing light will define the next few hours of hiking. I am constantly looking back at the mountain. Even though we only catch glimpses of ice through the clouds, the weather enhances and highlights other parts of the landscape that might be overlooked on a pure clear bluebird day where the peak would dominate the skyline.
With each passing cloud and sun break the temperature also swings sharply from warm and comfy to cooler with the breeze suddenly chilling in the shadows. I hike in my typical start-stop-go-wow-take a picture-hurry to catch up rhythm, trying to notice everything while also avoiding a faceplant on the trail if I don't watch my feet. Thankfully the trail is quite smooth in most places!
The trail along Cowlitz divide is not a straight ascent and then descent. Instead, it wanders up and down in elevation, climbing up to a high point with panoramic views and then dropping down and then going back up again to another vantage. There is so much to look at. The hidden face of Rainier in it's swirling gown of clouds. The valley south is expansive and blue- blue ridges, blue patches of sky, dark blue shadows on Banshee Peak and in the recesses of the Tatoosh range. A flat meadow of brown grasses and pale khaki colored seed-heads bobbing bright in front of the dark silhouettes of the Goat Rocks peaks.
Against all that cobalt and cerulean the golds and reds of the meadows just glow when the fleeting sunshine passes through.
Even when the trail definitively turns downhill there are a few more surprises in store. Between stretches of trees we stumble on incredible sloped meadows with some of the best colors of the trip.
All too soon we enter the forest and the real descent begins. We'll drop over 3,000 feet all the way to the Stevens Canyon Road winding far below. The trail shifts from smooth to steeper, bumpy, eroded, and at a rather annoying grade to descend. In some ways it is fortunate that the amazing views are now hidden in the forest because we have to watch our feet and have no extra mental bandwidth to look around unless we stop. We take a break at a trail junction and resign ourselves to more hard descending, but we are in for a surprise!
We are expecting the last miles to the car to be a total slog after the eroded steep trail above. So we are amazed when the grade lessens into welcome switchbacks, the forest floor softens with a coating of needles and cones, and huge old growth trees interlock above us. The filtered sun meanders through the branches in brilliantly green light. Old growth forests like this always feel like a cathedral of stained glass to me.
The forest is a high note on which to end our trip. The pleasant miles slip by and we detour to look at Nickel Creek Campground. We find what may be the site we stayed in back in 2008, and remember how ridiculously hard it was raining. We could place the pot below the tent's rain fly and there was such a volume of water coing dwon that it filled up like it was under a kitchen faucet. I remember eating under the tarp and giving my uncle and cousin our emergency blankets because their sleeping bags had gotten partially wet.
This time the forest is pleasant and the gentle chittering of Nickel Creek accompanies us for part of the hike. The forest floor is once again alight with green moss and mushrooms. We are back in the same ecological zone that we began. The forest air feels dense and smells of moldering leaves instead of drying grasses as the high country did. While we're looking forward to resting tired feet, we are still in no huge hurry.
I point out the pale yellow leaves of maple trees that cover the trail. Dad notices a buge bedrock boulder, likely deposited here by long ago ice. I make us backtrack a few minutes so I can take a photo of an amazing mushroom I spotted and couldn't stop thinking about.
Back at the parking lot we take one last detour to the old info kiosk at a viewpoint, where 18 years ago my cousin Valerie and I sat out of the rain while we waited for mom to pick us up. It is hard to believe that so many years are between these trips, but my limited memories from many points of the trail attest to the nearly two decades in between.
On this trip I thought often about how present and past selves overlap when a trail is covered multiple times across a life. 18 years ago I was just learning all the skills needed for backpacking. I was a follower in every sense of the word, learning from my Dad and the trail on the longest trip I'd done. And now this year I did a 21 day backpacking trip in the Sierra mountains where every day I was solely responsible for everything, from planning to pacing and food and route. I am so proud of the skills I have now, and the world of adventures it opens. And I am also proud that I am still that young woman, too, finding joy in the small details, stopping to marvel at the view, always having high spirits even when the weather is terrible, and just starting to explore art inspired by my hiking trips. I think she'd be proud of who I am now, too.
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