My stay in Canada ended on Tuesday. After a few cursory questions from the US border officer, (”What’s in the big black garbage bag?” “A body. Uh, I mean, dirty clothes.”), I was back in the USA. I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I filled my truck with $3.85 gasoline - I had paid $1.38 per liter on the way to Whistler the previous week, which equates to about $5.00 USD per gallon.

My apartment is in Tukwila, Washington, a few miles from downtown Seattle. Unfortunately it’s also just a few miles from the SeaTac (Seattle-Tacoma) International Airport, and arrivals and departures are faintly audible all day long. I couldn’t find an affordable place to stay elsewhere in Seattle - short-term housing has been by far the biggest pain-in-the-ass on this road trip - and this particular landlord had a 12-night open window between tenants, which she kindly provided to me at the prorated $1495 monthly rate. I will be checking out of here on Sunday the 21st.

After an uneventful week I drove to Mt. Rainier on Saturday to get away from the airport and two major interstates that are located within walking distance of my apartment.

The landscape quickly turned into mile after mile cow pastures and pine trees, except for a quick passage through the Muckleshoot Indian Reservation, which was plastered with neon signs inviting passersby into a thousand-car parking lot sitting at the feet of a huge casino. The road wove on through small Enumclaw, Washington, which instantly made me feel at home for the first time on this trip.

The eye-wateringly strong smell of many animals packed into a small place hit me as I passed by an enormous red barn advertising “Livestock Auction Today.” Main Street was partially closed off for a car show and I could see rows of angle-parked cars with their hoods raised like stacked dominoes, revealing mirror-polished cams. A plastic Budweiser sign in the convenience store where I bought my coffee proudly proclaimed that Enumclaw was the hometown of NASCAR star Kasey Kahne. The town reminded me of Liberty, SC or Lannet, AL or any of a hundred small southern towns.

The Evergreen State is impressively treed in this area. Although it was nearly noon and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, several times I had to remove my sunglasses and turn on my headlights while driving through a canopy of pine trees that blacked out the road beneath it. There were almost no signs of civilization within 50 miles of the park entrance, and I could only pick up one radio station. The Allman Brothers sang “Ramblin’ Man.”

And every time there was a break in the trees, I could glimpse the mountain. Mt. Rainier dominates the landscape of northwest Washington - it is visible from almost everywhere. It’s not the tallest peak in a series of peaks, it’s the peak.

I paid $15 at the park’s entrance and studied a hiking trail map. I decided to drive up to Sunrise, elevation 6400′. I stopped at a few scenic overlooks on the way.

I parked at Sunrise and hiked up to First Borroughs, elevation 7000′. I was above the treeline now.

I hiked up to Second Burroughs, elevation 7400′.

Even several miles of rocky trail from the parking lot, there were many hikers up here. Usually they thin out considerably after a few hundred yards of hiking, but I could always see about a dozen people on the trail ahead or behind me.

One shaggy-haired, barrel-bellied man of about 35 was slowly making his way up the mountain when I passed him from behind. “How’s it going man? This is my day off from the kids, I gotta make the most of it.”

“It’s a beautiful day,” I agreed, looking back.

“So what do you do for a living, man?”

“Web developer.”

“Yeah,” he continued, not hearing my answer, “I’ve got family that are bounty hunters.”

Not knowing the proper response to this unsolicited information, I nodded my head.

“Hey man, you know this guy?” He stopped and stood up straight, stretching his black tee shirt down towards his belt buckle. It almost made it.

The shirt was emblazoned with a large picture of Dog the Bounty Hunter. “That’s my uncle, man. The Dog. He’s great, man, me and him go way back. Got the same mullet and everything.” He removed his dirty baseball cap so that I could indeed confirm his statement.

“That’s cool,” I said. “Well, see ya.” Luckily, he wasn’t a very fast hiker. I didn’t see him again.

The final peak, Third Burroughs, was accessed through an unmarked but well-traveled trail and involved losing 400 hard-earned feet of altitude, then hiking across an expansive rocky ridgeline.

One of the best parts about this hike was that it was almost completely above the treeline, so that I always knew exactly where I was in relation to my starting point and eventual destination. That was a drawback at times, though, when I looked back and could clearly see people camped out eating lunch at a spot I passed a tough hour ago.

Also, because of the unchecked exposure, I am at the moment sporting an impressive sunburn.

Third Burroughs, elevation 7828′. The view from the top was, like most things in nature worthy of a photograph, wholly incapable of being photographed.

On the way back down, I took a different trail which was literally cut out of the steep side of the mountain, looking down at the valley below.

The entire trek was about nine miles and took me five hours.

The coup-de-grace came as I was driving back down the mountain while the sun was beginning to set. I rounded a hairpin turn in my truck and came upon a series of cars parked on the middle of the road, people hanging out of the open windows. I grabbed my camera. Anywhere else it would have been for a fender-bender, here I knew it was for wildlife.

In Yellowstone the sight that caused traffic to stop was buffalo and coyotes. Here it was…SASQUATCH!

Just kidding, it was a bear.

^ I can now profess to have seen a bear in the wild. If I were old enough to have a bucket list, that would have been on it.