My Solo Road Trip to Mount Rainier.

There are places you visit once and never really think about again. And then there are places that somehow become a huge part of your life. And for me, that place is Mount Rainier. I've spent more than a decade coming back to this mountain, hiking to its hidden vistas, photographing magical sunsets, and experiencing once-in-a-lifetime moments. But over the past few years, I've found myself traveling further and further away from here, always looking for something new. But for this trip, I want to do the opposite. Instead of getting on a plane and chasing some distant landscape, I decided to spend a few days exploring this mountain that's been right in my backyard for most of my adult life. I wanted to see how much of it I actually knew, and maybe along the way, see what feels different when you come back to a place you've known for so long. At 14,410 feet, Mount Rainier is the tallest mountain in Washington, towering over the landscape just 60 miles from Seattle. I first started coming here after moving to the Pacific Northwest more than 10 years ago, and in a lot of ways, this mountain was what inspired me to get into photography and filmmaking in the first place. I've probably spent more time with a camera at Rainier than almost anywhere else in the world, so coming back here for this trip feels a bit like a homecoming. My first stop is the sunrise area on the north side of the mountain. At nearly 6,500 feet, it's the highest point you can drive to in Mount Rainier National Park, and the mountain just feels so grand from this vantage point. I decided to hike the Rim Trail above the White River Valley, a route I'd actually never explored before. The trail winds through wide-open sub-alpine meadows, with incredible views of the Emmons Glacier, Little Tahoma, and the valley below. It was fairly slow-moving, not because the trail was particularly difficult, but because there was just so much to look at. And honestly, that's a big part of why I brought the Hasselblad 907X and 100C with me on this trip. It's a camera that naturally makes me slow down and be a little more intentional about what I'm photographing. Eventually, the trail opens up into a vast meadow, revealing Rainier above the White River and the Emmons Glacier. And as the evening light started to dip towards the horizon, I found myself photographing this mountain from a perspective I'd never seen before. It was a pretty good reminder that even after all these years, there are still places left to discover here. I almost didn't wake up for this. It was 5 in the morning, and every part of me wanted to stay in bed. But there was something telling me to go. For a while, it was just that soft blue light before the day really begins. Then slowly, the landscape began to reveal itself. The full moon was setting behind Rainier as the colors of a brand new day washed over the summit glaciers. And as the sun crested the horizon, the clouds below began cascading over the ridgelines. Islands of evergreens were suddenly adrift in the clouds, and the entire mountain was painted in this incredible alpine glow. Even after years of experiencing sunrise and sunsets here, this was truly one of the most spectacular mornings that I've ever experienced in the mountains. After driving back into the park, I found myself in those same clouds. Tipsu Lake sits near the summit of Chinook Pass on the east side of Rainier. The highway actually wraps itself around the lake, making it this strange intersection of wilderness and the occasional semi-truck. It didn't take long for the sun to start working its way through the fog. And as the light warmed up, little wisps of steam began rising off the lake. This is really where I started to appreciate having the Hasselblad with me. There's something about shooting medium format that makes me slow down and be a little more intentional. I'm not taking as many photographs, but I'm thinking more about each one. It gets me out of the mindset of constantly looking for the next shot, and makes me actually pay attention to where I am, even if that just means looking down at my own two feet and noticing what's right in front of me. Okay, so a little personal story before we move on. Before I moved to Seattle in 2015, I came out here to Rainier with a friend, really having no idea what to expect. I hadn't spent much time in the mountains up to that point. I was still living in the Midwest and trying to figure out if I was actually ready to uproot my life and move across the country. So we ended up driving out here to this exact spot overlooking Stevens Canyon. And I remember standing here and thinking, maybe this could actually be home. Making that move was really scary. I was in my early 20s, and I had no idea what I was doing. But looking back, Rainier became one of those places that made the Pacific Northwest feel like home. It gave me somewhere to explore, and it became part of the life that I was building here. And now, more than 10 years later, I'm still coming back. We have made it to the south side of Rainier, and this afternoon we're heading to one of my favorite places. The trail begins easy enough, moving through towering evergreens, thankfully blocking out the harsh afternoon sun. Every so often, patches of Indian paintbrush and lupine offer a brief respite from the uphill climb. About halfway up the mountain, I came across one of my favorite wildflowers, a small early bloom of wild beargrass. There's something almost whimsical about beargrass, especially when you find it growing in such a rugged landscape. This little scene perched at the edge of the meadow made for quite the magical photo looking across the valley. Further up the mountain, the meadows begin to dissolve into a rougher alpine landscape, with little mirrors dotting the foregrounds. I was feeling a bit tired after the hike, but also excited to run around with the camera and take it all in and reflect. I can't help but think how much has changed since I first started coming here. I'm not the same person I was 10 years ago. I've lived in different places, traveled all over the world, and my life looks pretty different than it did when I first stood in these mountains. And I'm sure 10 years from now, I'll be different again. But this mountain will still be here. The glaciers will move, the wildflowers will come and go, and all of these little moments that feel so significant to me right now will eventually fade into memories. But Rainier will keep standing here long after I'm gone, and there's something strangely comforting about that. And I think that's part of why I keep coming back. Not just because the landscape is beautiful, but because it gives me a way to measure time. And maybe that's what I'm really looking for on this trip. Not just photographs of this place, but a way to remember who I was while I was here. The next morning, I woke up for sunrise and made my way over to Reflection Lake. This might be the most photographed spot in the entire park. And somehow, I've never actually taken a picture here, so I figured it was probably time. The lake was perfectly still, creating this almost surreal reflection of the mountain as the morning's first light kissed the tops of the evergreens. Honestly, I was grateful to have such an accessible spot to watch sunrise, as I was feeling exhausted. As much as I love coming here on these trips, I gotta say, waking up early like this really does a number on me. So it was time to sit back, make a coffee, and enjoy some quiet before heading out for my last adventure. For the grand finale of this trip, I wanted to visit somewhere very unique to this part of the world. And getting there means driving pretty far up a remote forest road, which is an adventure in itself. After arriving at the trailhead, I laced up my shoes, grabbed everything I need for the evening, and headed up the trail with high hopes. This hike isn't particularly challenging, but it's enough of a climb that you definitely earn the view at the top. But there was one pretty big question mark this time around. The mountain should be right here, but as you guys can see, the wildfire smoke has really obscured any possibility of a view. So yeah, I'm not really sure what to do at this point, but I think I'm gonna continue onwards. Eventually, I emerged from the depths of the forest out onto a rocky plateau where the Kelly Butte lookout sits. Washington is home to 93 of these fire lookouts, perched atop the mountains, scattered across the state. Some built more than 100 years ago to monitor for forest fires. I've always loved these old lookouts. There's something so special about hiking up to these little cabins and suddenly having this huge landscape spread out in every direction. Looking north, I could see the gentle sprawl of the central cascades, while to the south, Rainier began to slowly emerge from the smoke. I've climbed up to Kelly Butte probably a dozen times over the years, but somehow it never really feels like the same hike. And I think that's one of the things I've come to appreciate about returning to familiar places. I can stand in the same place and think about what my life looked like the last time I was here, and realize just how much can change in between. And through so much of that change, Rainier has been there. I've photographed this mountain more times than I could ever count, but I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing it. So, I guess I'll just keep coming back. Thank you guys so much for watching, thanks for being here, and I'll see you next time.