The Summit
Tuesday evening, late July. 82 degrees at the pass, which was rude. Clear blue sky, not a breath of wind, the kind of heat that makes my tongue hang sideways. My human wanted to catch golden hour from the summit, so we started up from Alpental in the late afternoon. The gully is steep and loose — 2,700 feet in under two miles, hands-and-paws the whole way. No photos on the climb because my human needed both hands and I needed all four feet.
The heat was worth the view. From the top, the drop straight down made my stomach flip — and I'm a dog who scrambles ridgelines for fun. I-90 and Snoqualmie Pass spread out thousands of feet below, cars crawling along the highway like very boring insects.
The Descent
We dropped down from the summit as the light turned golden and the air finally started to cool. Thank god. I scrambled down the open ridge, picking my line through meadows and rock with Cascade peaks stretching out behind me. The ground was warm under my paws, the rock holding the day's heat, but the breeze had arrived and it carried the green smell of subalpine fir and distant snowfields.
I paused on a rock outcrop above the treeline to survey the terrain below. The whole descent laid out, every gully and boulder field, the forest dark and cool-looking in the distance. No hesitation. I knew exactly where I was going.
Along the gully, a small rock cave formation marked the route — the kind of feature you remember by smell as much as sight. Damp stone, bat musk, old moss. I filed it away.
Golden Hour
Lower in the gully, the light went full golden. I scrambled through rocks and meadow and then there it was — Mount Rainier emerging through the haze to the south, glowing in the distance like it was lit from inside. The air had cooled enough to be pleasant. Finally. I could smell warm rock, crushed heather where my paws hit the plants, and something sweet drifting up from the valley.
I stopped on a rock slab as the light caught my fur. Peaks and ridges stacked behind me in warm golden hour glow. This is the part where my human takes a dozen photos and tells me to stay. I stayed. Not because he asked — because the rock was warm, the view was good, and the evening air carried the green scent of subalpine meadow and the last heat of the day lifting off the stone. I looked like I belonged there because I did.
Three hours car-to-car. Short, steep, and spectacular. The heat was the only bad part, and it fixed itself by the end. Rainier in golden light made up for the rest. My human and I don't need a three-day epic every time. Sometimes a Tuesday evening scramble is enough — just the two of us, a gully, and the light.
