What a privileged location! Mercer Islanders look out to the west, and beyond our lake, Seward Park and Seattle, to view the jagged Olympics mountain range. Look to the east, and from some spots (like Gallagher Hill) we see the Cascades, usually dusted—or crusted—with snow. And to the southeast stands our nearby volcano, Mt. Rainier.

He’s a wily fellow, given to intrigue and deceit, so out of respect, I call him Mister Rainier. Often he hides beneath the cloudy gray blanket that settles over our island. Other times, he ducks in and out of the hazy billows in his direction. And sometimes he dons a jaunty hat, perching its wide brim—a lenticular cloud--upon his crown. We ask, “Is the mountain out?” And if he is, snap your photo quickly, for he’s apt to disappear again soon.

My husband and I recently spent a weekend at Paradise Inn at Mt. Rainier National Park, thanks to reservations made a year in advance. From May 24 until September 2, you’ll also need a timed entrance reservation to enter the park between 7 am and 3 pm at the Paradise and Sunrise corridors. We tend to visit once or twice per year and have stayed in the Inn’s various room configurations, including the originals built with the lodge in 1916, tiny and without bathrooms. Sharing single-gender restrooms with strangers harkens to college dorms, but the historic grand lobby and jaw-dropping scenery outside make any room part of the thrill.

After all, the mountain drew users and admirers as soon as humans populated the area. Tribes including the Nisqually, Yakima, Puyallup, Cowlitz, and others gathered berries (all in the park are edible, according to the ranger leading an easy afternoon informational hike). Each visitor, she told us, is entitled to pick a gallon of berries per day, (and a gallon of edible fungi) though tribe members have no limit, and enjoy expanded hunting privileges. The Inn, built with yellow cedars harvested after a fire, has an open timber frame designed by architects Heath, Grove, and Bell. Its dining room holds 400, but most captivating are the lobby furnishings made by Hans Fraehnke, with massive chairs, a two-story grandfather clock, and piano played every afternoon, all with vertical posts that look like huge sharpened pencils. Hanging lamps feature parchment shades painted with native wildflowers.

You’re here to enjoy nature, and rangers make sure you absorb certain environmental messages. Like, keep both feet on the trail! The “Mount Rainier Pledge,” in the park’s tourist newspaper The Tahoma News, notes that “One step onto a meadow damages an average of 17 plants that will take years to recover!” A theme prevalent at the night astronomy talks was damage from bright city lights obscuring the naturally dark sky. “Clap once if you can see the Milky Way from your home,” instructed the ranger. A smattering. “Clap twice if you can’t see it from where you live!” Most of the group responded, including me. We not only lose markers of our place in the universe, but can’t benefit from using stars as a calendar, or a map, or just to identify north, so we can head the right way home.

As we can see from Mercer Island, Mt. Rainier boasts its own unique weather, but while we were there this August, a thunder-hail storm made its way north overhead. Enormous raindrops and penny-sized hail pelted the hearty inn, which most winters become just a pimple in the average 10-25 feet of snow. Alas, the power soon went out, and as flashlights were loaned and lightning flashed continuously, a generator stoked bare-minimum lamps in the great hall. There was enough illumination for the rangers to adapt that evening’s astronomy presentation to the indoors, leading things off with a trivia contest. Ten questions: How many moons does Saturn have? (103) What was the first satellite to orbit the earth? (Sputnik I, October, 1957). Mt. Rainier was the first National Park to allow cars (in 1907); what was the name of the first “car” to travel on the moon? (Lunar Rover Vehicle). Here, we know due north by locating the North Star. What is used to locate north in the southern hemisphere? (The Southern Cross). 

The Ranger leading the exercise asked who got 4 correct. Several hands shot up. Five? Half withdrew. Six? A few more down. Seven? Only two hands remained extended, one mine. Eight? We both dropped out: a tie! I’ve never in my life been prouder to receive a sticker showing how to find the North Star. Here’s how: Follow the upward edge of the Big Dipper’s cup five cup-lengths into space, to reach the first star in the handle of the upside-down Little Dipper. That’s it, Polaris, the North Star. I then worked with another ranger on tabletop activities to earn my Mt. Rainier Night Explorer patch, which concludes with a pledge vowing to follow up on my curiosity about the night sky.

If you don’t happen to have a Mt. Rainier view from your home, its upper third is visible from Clarke Beach, and the entire mountain from the Avalon neighborhood and parts of West Mercer Way. Even The Lid (the upper part of Aubrey Davis Park) can afford a glimpse. When we moved to the Island 29 years ago, my criterion for a desirable home was that it offer a view. Mt. Rainier was a bonus, and as we awakened to brilliant sunrises in the fall and winter, became my favorite photography subject (he never complains about my habit, never sneers or turns away when he sees my camera). I compiled many pictures into a do-it-yourself photo book I titled “The Many Moods of Mr. Rainier.” Yes, that’s Mister, to you. 

There’s a controversy about how many days per year Mt. Rainier shows himself. Googling that statistic brings results ranging from Reddit’s “a few days a year” to the oft-quoted 83 days per year, based on a time-lapse summary by tech exec Sameer Halai of photos collected every 3 pm in 2012 from Kerry Park by the Puget Sound Clean Air Agency. Of course, Mr. Rainier plays peek-a-boo at other times, too, and who decides how much of the mountain defines “out”? When guests come to our weekly Sabbath lunch gatherings, sometimes they’re disappointed when Mr. Rainier fails to join the party. I hand them my photo book and remind them, “He’s kind of like God: Even though you can’t always see him, you know He’s there.”