Day 14 — to North Cascades National Park

Dear Baby Nat,

It was cool and crisp this morning as we broke down camp;. I was comfortable layering a long-sleeved plaid shirt over my sleeveless top, and then donning a fleece and my Nano Puff over that.

We rolled down the mountain and passed the Mount Rainier National Park entrance gates by 9 a.m. (where at least thirty cars were waiting to get in on this glorious, cloudless Sunday morning). We grabbed coffee and pastries from a bakery in Eatonville, about 40 miles outside the park, then continued on for about four hours to North Cascades National Park — about 120 miles northeast of Seattle. 

We had considered fitting in a hike this afternoon, but when we got out of the car at the visitors center, the temperature gauge read 91 degrees. I immediately peeled off all my extra layers, and regretted pulling on pants this morning. The idea of trekking around outside suddenly lost its appeal. This place is positively crackling with heat. We decided to continue on to Winthrop, in the Methow Valley, on the other side of the park, where we are staying tonight.

North Cascades National Park is considered the American Alps, with 500,000 acres of jagged peaks and more than 300 glaciers. I’m surprised at how rocky and dry it seems, compared to the verdant green of Olympic National Park. In fact, many of the mountainsides are completely ravaged. Where there were once cool, green forests, the slopes are now covered with brittle, withered tree trunks, as if the entire mountain has been corroded with rust. We suspect the mountain pine beetle. It is a devastating sight.

Entire hillsides decimated by insects

Charlie at the Diablo Lake overlook

We’re staying tonight and tomorrow in the Rolling Huts — a herd of six small boxes made of steel, wood and glass. They are each the size of a shipping container and feature two rooms (room for four*), a small kitchenette (a microwave, but no running water), a wood-burning stove and a porch with a view. They were designed by Tom Kundig, some hot-shot, award-winning Seattle architect who is recognized for his rugged yet elegant designs crafted from rough materials, and they actually have huge wheels on the bottom so they can be moved, although I don’t know that they ever have been, or would need to be.

*Room for Four: That may be stretching it. There’s a double bed in the back room, and modular “furniture” (read: wooden boxes) in the living area that can be configured into a twin-size sleeping platform. Clare is sleeping there. I suppose there is room for Charlie in a sleeping bag on the floor, but he decided that he would be more comfortable in the Teardrop, in the parking lot.

View from the back deck looking in

Seating area reconfigures to ...

... sleeping area!

Clare has been grumbling: This place is not as exciting as I made it out to be, I guess. She seems to think the cabins are a little austere. That’s one impression; I think they are terrific. To use a term that Dad affectionately coined, this place is a Fran and Ron Special — modern, unfussy design and clever use of space. It’s the kind of architecture Gramp studied and appreciated when he was with Mies van der Rohe at the Illinois Institute of Technology in the 1950s.

Yes, it’s a metal box in the middle of the summer. But now that the sun has gone down, it’s cool and pleasant. We can leave the sliding door open, and there’s a big fan on the other side of the hut that sucks the warm air out. We won’t be firing up the wood-burning stove while we’re here, that’s for sure.

The entire property also includes a campground with 16 safari-style canvas platform tents set closer to the Methow River, and, just off the highway, a bright and chic little wood-fired pizza restaurant. The owners are Polish, and there’s a  Euro-style bar with huge selection of European beers and a giant espresso maker, so Dad and I are set. 

The bathrooms have flush toilets and hot showers, as well as thoughtfully placed tissue boxes, lavender hand soap and feminine products. And they’re clean and they smell nice, so they’re about 20 levels above any national park campground bathroom. 

Since we didn’t have to set up camp, we had some time before dinner. Dad and I broke out a couple of cans of Rainier beer, and some chips and salsa, and I cracked open a book for the first time in four weeks. It was glorious.

The view from the back porch.

Even more glorious: the shower after dinner. Most of us haven’t bathed for three full days — since before we left Olympic National Park — so we got cleaned up tonight and, with nothing left to do, we turned in early to bed. 

Good night, My Love. Tomorrow’s Monday — a full day of painting class for you. Enjoy! Work hard. We can’t wait to see you soon.

Love, Mom

xoxoxoxoxo