THE PRINCE OF WALES HOTEL

Prince of Wales Hotel

The Prince of Wales Hotel almost wasn’t, for the Fates seemed
determined to keep it from ever being born. Louis Hill had long dreamed of creating a third great hotel that would link Waterton
Lakes National Park in Alberta, Canada to Glacier National Park.
More than a little envious, Hill looked across the border at the
chain of great hotels Canadian Pacific Railway had constructed
throughout the Canadian Rockies.

In 1913, Hill found just the place:  windswept knoll overlooking the magnificent Waterton Lakes that straddled the border between the two nations. Here he proposed to build a 300 room hotel. But then, World War I broke out, and travel for pleasure came to a virtual halt. After the war, it appeared for a time that the U.S. and Canada would jointly dam the narrows between the two lakes. Only when that plan failed to gain traction was Hill able to garner support for his decade-old dream hotel. But by now, Hill’s own enthusiasm for the project had begun to wane, partly because he began to doubt that sufficient tourists would find this out-of-the-way place to make it a paying proposition. Nevertheless, it was announced to the media that Great Northern would construct a 450-room hotel on the site. Estimated cost: $500,000.

Problems, one after another, delayed the project. All these roadblocks spawned such corporate pessimism that the proposed size kept shrinking, reaching a bottom of only 65 rooms. With torrential rain, heavy snow, deteriorating roads, and major transportation problems, the outlook for a hotel on this site was increasingly dismal. Except for Hill, who was then traveling in Europe, touring France and Switzerland. Every time he’d see a building he really liked, he’d have his photographer take pictures and send them back to Thomas McMahon (his architect). Result: the hotel was rebuilt four times; in the process, the hotel grew from four to seven stories, and from 65 to 90 rooms. Finally, it appeared that the hotel would become a reality after all.

There remained, however, one not-so-small problem: the wind. The building spot just happened to be one of the windiest places in North America. Hotel historian
Christine Barnes chronicles what happened on December 10 of 1926: “According to Oland’s memoirs [Douglas Oland, the builder], the resident engineer estimated readings of an average of 84 mph with gusts of 100 mph. ‘I would not have been too greatly surprised if the whole building had blown down, as it was, it blew eight inches off plumb,’ wrote Oland. Timber landed two miles from the site. Oland’s crew winched the structure back within four inches of the original site” (Barnes, 107).

There then followed snowstorms, a second major windstorm, cutting off all transportation. But indefatigable Oland refused to give up: when trucks couldn’t make it through, supplies and building materials were brought in by sleigh.

Romayne Wheeler giving a concert in the Prince ofWales Hotel & Waterton Lakes

It paid off: on July 25, 1927, the largest wooden structure in Alberta, the Prince of Wales Hotel, opened. It had cost $300,000. According to Barnes, “The exterior of the Prince of Wales Hotel seemed like a fairy-tale creation [others label it a ‘giant dollhouse”], but it is also a shelter from which to view the park. Eighteen-foot-high windows along the lake-side of the great hall frame a scene that none of Hill’s artists hired to promote the hotels could possibly capture. Every window, from the attic to the cocktail lounge, contains the spectacular surroundings” (Barnes, 107). As befits its name, the hotel leans more to rustic Tudor than to the “Wild West.” It is the most formal of any of the Great Northern hostelries.

* * * * *

Years passed. After its creator, Louis Hill, died in 1948, there was no one to ensure his legacy’s survival. It has always been victimized by weather extremes and winter road closures. But yet it still stands.

* * * * *

Connie & GregWheeler at the Prince of Wales Hotel

Connie and I love this place. And each time we return, we find it more difficult to leave. Strangely enough, even though its location is remote and often difficult to get to, the small town of Waterton,
about a mile away, keeps it from seeming isolated. The views out
those giant windows are to die for. If you revel in the elements,
as we do, you’ll stay in one of the high-up lake-side rooms where
you get the full force of the wind. On one never-to-be-forgotten
night, when I attempted to go out on the balcony, the wind blew so hard it was virtually impossible to open the door!

One ofthe local Grizzly Bears at Prince of Wales Hotel

People come here from all around the world, and here one rubs shoulders with a new breed of travelers: those who seek to escape from cookie-cutter boxes and ennui induced by five-star glitzy palaces of sameness. These new travelers revel in lodgings that have withstood the ravages of time, and still retain the unique
qualities that have endeared them to generations of travelers who
have loved them. So, if you have not yet come here, write down on
your Bucket List: I must stay at Prince of Wales Hotel before I die!

SOURCES: The best source of information, by far, is found in Christine Barnes’ landmark Great Lodges of the West 1 (Bend, Oregon: W. W. West, Inc, 1997).

MANY GLACIER LODGE

Each of Hill’s great Glacier National Park lodges creates a different mood. Not the least of this one’s charm is the twelve-mile-long drive through Swiftcurrent Valley, so wild that you’re likely to see bears to your left fishing in the river.

Just before reaching Swiftcurrent Lake, a magnificent waterfall thunders out of the lake in a torrent. After shutterbugging, you proceed to another world.

Swiftcurrent Lake at Many Glacier Lodge

While larger than its East Glacier counterpart, because Many Glacier Hotel blends so seamlessly into the natural grandeur of the park, it actually appears smaller. Even before you find a parking spot on the hill above, you somehow feel you’re “home.” However, once you enter that great but warmth-inducing lobby, the pressures of the world outside begin to dissipate. But, let me warn you: by the time you’ve stayed here a couple of days (the minimum recomended stay), it almost takes a crowbar to dislodge you.

* * * * *

Louis Hill chose this stunning site for his second Glacier Park hotel in 1909. Two architects (Thomas McMahon and Kirtland Cutter) visited the site in 1914, and subsequently drew plans for a Swiss-style mountain hotel. Although Hill chose McMahon over Cutter, according to National Park historian Christine Barnes, “it is a blend of the Bartlett McMahon Glacier Park Lodge . . . and Cutter’s original drawings. . . . The Swiss chalet architecture combined with timbers and native rock—a hallmark of Cutter’s Lake McDonald Lodge . . . is prevalent at Many Glacier” (Barnes, 50).

Circular fireplace in May Glacier Hotel's lobby

The Circular Fireplace at Many Glacier LodgeThe Great Hall, though only half the size of East Glacier’s baronial colonnade, seems perfect for the setting. Three balconies line two sides of the lobby with guest rooms. Dominating the room is a fire pit over which is suspended a huge copper hood. A fire burns here night and day. The great Ptarmigan Dining Room is anchored by a massive stone fireplace; Swiss banners hang from the ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the almost breath-taking scenery of snow-capped mountains as reflected in the glacial lake.

The hotel opened on July 4, 1915. So popular was it that it was soon expanded to 214 rooms. Altogether, it cost $500,000 to construct.

Many Glacier Hotel

Through the years, the venerable hotel has survived changing tastes in travel and accommodations, fires, heavy snowfalls, floods, and benign neglect. In fact, its owners, burdened by the staggering costs involved in its maintenance and upkeep, at times, would have been glad to see it burn down. But, in spite of it all, the hotel beat the odds and, almost a century after its birth, remains the reigning queen at the center of Glacier National Park..

Connie and I have returned to it again and again. In fact, I even incorporated it into one of my Christmas stories, “By the Fireplace:”

“A dreamy look comes over Kim’s face. ‘Grammy, you would have liked Many Glacier Hotel. Isn’t that a funny name? Sort of like ‘Many Cassie’ or ‘Many Mother.’ Cassie giggles. ‘It had a big lobby with a high ceiling. Out the northern windows was one of the most beautiful lakes, glacier turquoise, that you’ll ever see. And in the middle of the lobby was a fire pit with a copper hood, open on all sides. And around it people from all around the world sat and talked.’

‘Or played games, crocheted, read, or just relaxed,’ adds Tom.

‘But what impressed me most,’ continues Kim, ‘was the people. People who had traveled widely, were cultured, some very wealthy, who talked about the most interesting things. . . .”

Diane adds, “At East Glacier they put puzzles together. And people played and sang at the piano. Remember those two cowboy singers?’ ‘They were funny,’ chimes in Cassie.”

“But those two couldn’t hold a candle to that string trio from Slovakia at Many Glacier,’ declares her father. ‘It was fascinating to watch the audience in that big lobby. One by one they stood up and gravitated toward the trio who were performing classical, folk, light-classical, and old standards. At the end they showered them with tips. Did you see the size of some of those bills?”

“Sure did! There was money in that room’ concludes Tom. ‘By the way, I was intrigued by something Uncle Lance said as we were leaving the park. I thought it was kind of strange, coming from him, being an advertising copywriter.”

“‘What was that?’ asked Kim.”

“Well, he seemed kind of blown away by this peaceful, quiet world at Glacier. So different from the world of advertising hype he makes his living in. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Tom, mark my words. You may quite possibly have seen the future in the lodges of Glacier.’ I asked him what he meant, and he said, ‘Well, we’ve just about reached the breaking point in terms of electronic intrusion and noise in our lives. Serenity is almost a lost commodity. God did not create us to be so inundated in ear-battering sound. People are already breaking over it. Just think, in the average American home the television is on seven to nine hours a day, and children are playing with Play Stations instead of being outdoors. There’s the computer, the television screen in your face all day at the office, telephones, cell phones everywhere you go, even on planes, ships, and vacations in the remotest places of the world . . . Faxes, videos, radio. Barraged by a million ads by the time you’re 20! It just goes on and on. So I say it again: You may have just seen the future. Human behavior can tilt only so far before it changes direction. We’ve about reached that point.”

Grandpa had been intently following the dialogue; now he enters the conversation. “‘Sooo,’ he says slowly, ‘if I’m hearing you right, there was something about the Glacier experience that has been reinforced by this blizzard. Where are you trying to take us?’”

For a time there is silence in the room.”

—Wheeler, Christmas in My Heart® 14, 122-123.

* * * * *

Many Glacier Hotel

When you stay here, be sure and book a lakeside room. Waking up to that ever-changing panorama outside your window is an experience that burns its way into your memory. It becomes a Shangri-la to escape to when the troubles of the real world begin to close in on you.

* * * * *

Next week, we’ll move on to Prince of Wales Hotel.

SOURCES CONSULTED

Barnes, Christine, Great Lodges of the West 1 (Bend, Oregon: W. W. West, Inc, 1997).
Wheeler, Joe, Christmas in My Heart® 14 (Hagerstown, MD: Review and Herald Publishing Association, 2005).

GLACIER PARK LODGE

Glacier National Park is perceived by many as being one of the most remote national parks in the lower 48, for it is a destination rather than being a way-station on a route to somewhere.  Comparatively few Americans have ever been here, which is a pity for it is a magical place of great beauty.

That the park exists at all we owe no small thanks to railroad tycoon, Louis Hill, son of James J. Hill, founder of the Great Northern empire of trains and ships.  Indeed, such a passion did Louis Hill have for the park and its development that he temporarily stepped down from the presidency of Great Northern so that he could devote all his time to Glacier.  His dream was to create a park on the European model, complete with great hotels, chalets, roads, trails, telephone and boat service—something never before accomplished in America.

He began by using his Great Northern clout to secure a special Act of Congress in 1912 to purchase 160 acres of land that was part of the Blackfeet Indian Reservation that bordered the just created [in 1910] Glacier National Park.  Here he would position his flagship hotel, and he would lay transcontinental railway track right to his front door (one of the very few national parks where this was done).  Even El Tovar’s rail connection would be a spur rather than being part of a transcontinental route.

Glacier Park Lodge

Hill lay awake nights dreaming of ways to make his first Glacier hotel into one of the nation’s greatest.  The linchpin had come to him earlier, in 1905, while attending the 1905 Lewis and Clark Exposition in Portland, Oregon.  Unquestionably, the hit of the exposition was the great Oregon Forestry Building, constructed in the rectangular colonnaded basilica style pioneered by Roman architects—only, rather than built of brick, stone, and masonry, this one was anchored by massive Oregon Douglas fir, four feet thick and 48 feet high, each weighing 30,000 – 36,000 pounds.  Now Hill determined to make those same great columns the WOW factor at Glacier.

So it came to pass that Hill constructed (with the able assistance of architects S. L. Bartlett and Thomas McMahon) a great forest basilica at East Glacier.  When the Blackfeet Indians saw those 60 massive logs hauled in by train, they were in awe, for they’d never seen trees that big!  They promptly dubbed the new building “Oom-Coo-Mush-Taw” (Big Tree Lodge”).  Hill did not miss a trick: to ensure that the bark wouldn’t fall off later, he had the logs cut before the sap began to run in the spring.  The Great Hall with its 200 by 100 foot lobby, soaring 60 feet high with three atriums, flanked by galleries on each side, is indeed—as Hill planned it to be—akin to a great European cathedral, only created out of trees.

Great Lobby of Glacier Park Lodge

Inside, Hill orchestrated a most eclectic mix: Indian pictographs; animal horns and skins; buffalo skulls; Indian teepees; Blackfeet crafts, rugs, blankets, baskets; two great fireplaces [the open one has since been removed]; Japanese lanterns hung from rafters, and tea served by women in kimonos; Blackfeet Indians in full regalia and porters in Bavarian uniforms.

When the hotel was completed in 1913, its upperscale rooms featured private baths, fireplaces, and porches.  So successful was it that Hill added 111 additional rooms to the original 61.  Altogether, it cost more than $500,000 to build.

But here we are, almost a hundred years later, and it remains one of America’s great hotels.

* * * * *

Connie and I have not only seen the lodge from the windows of an Amtrak train, we have stayed there three times, most recently when the Zane Grey’s West Society held its annual convention there.  Bob and Lucy Earp were also in attendance with us.  My brother, concert pianist Romayne Wheeler, feted our Society and hotel guests with a concert in the Grand Hall.

Red jammers at Glacier Park Lodge

Each of Hill’s three great Glacier hotels has a unique feel all its own.  Glacier Park Lodge feels more like a jumping-off place rather than a park hotel.  Vintage red jammers ferry people all over the park, departing and returning to the hotel.  It is part of a small railroad town so it has its own infrastructure, and it borders the large Blackfeet reservation.

Yet, with all this, it remains a serene place to stay.  Separating the railway terminal from the hotel is a thousand-foot-long garden.  In the great lobby and long vista’d verandas, guests play board games, write letters, visit with friends, and regenerate from the hectic life they left behind.  No one misses the television sets ubiquitous in cookie-cutter lodgings elsewhere.  To experience the Great Hall alone is worth the trip.  Especially at night when you stare into the flickering flames in the fireplace.

And once you’ve stayed here one time, you’ll yearn to return.

SOURCES CONSULTED

Invaluable for the history of the hotel is Christine Barnes’ splendid Great Lodges of the West 1 (Bend, Oregon: W. W. W. West, Inc, 1997).  Also helpful is David and Kay W. Scott’s The Complete Guide to National Park Lodges (Guilford, CT: Globe Pequot Press, 1998, 2009).

GLACIER NATIONAL PARK TITANS

Give a month to this precious reserve [Glacier National Park].  The time will not be taken from the sum of your life.  Instead of shortening, it will infinitely lengthen it and make you truly immortal.

                                                                        –John Muir (Olin, 31)

GEORGE BIRD GRINELL

George Bird Grinnell was one of the most influential men our nation has ever known.  Founder of the Audubon Society and colleague of John Muir, Grinnell sold his father’s investment business in order to speak out on conservation issues in his Forest and Stream magazine.  But of all the at-risk beauty spots in the nation, Glacier held center stage in his heart.  He labeled it “The Crown of the Continent…one of the most beautiful mountain regions in the world.”

As to what this region had come to mean to him, he wrote “How often, in dreams of the night or days, have I revisited these scenes during the years that have passed. . . .  How often, in fancy, have I seated myself on some rock…and gazed over the beautiful scene.

Few people know these wonderful mountains, yet no one who goes there but comes away with enthusiasm for their wild and singular beauty” (Duncan and Burns, 116).

In 1897, Grinnell pulled every known string at his command to get the Glacier area set aside as the Lewis and Clark Forest Preserve.  Then he immediately set about moving the debate to the next level: national park status.  But the opposition from special interests was determined to continue mining around the scenic lakes, hunting in the mountains, and denuding the forest of its trees.

Thirteen more years would pass, with Grinnell refusing to admit defeat and fiercely battling on, before, at long last, in 1910, President Taft, with a stroke of his pen, preserved for all time the million-acre wonderland the world knows as Glacier National Park.

Years later, Grinnell reflected on the significance of it all: “If we had not succeeded in getting those regions set apart as National Parks, by this time they would have been . . . cut bare of timber, dotted with irrigation reservoirs, the game would have been all killed off, the country would have been burned over” (Duncan and Burns, 119).

LOUIS HILL

But Grinnell was anything but alone in his efforts to save Glacier for posterity.  Louis Hill, the Great Northern Railway tycoon, was tireless in promoting the park.  To attract tourists conditioned to vacation in Europe, he enthusiastically preached the gospel of “See America First!”  He labeled Glacier National Park as “America’s Switzerland,” and employed Blackfoot Indians to dress in full regalia as they met incoming trains.  Disembarking, tourists could rent tepees so as to immerse themselves immediately into the Wild West.  Hill even paid for a group of Blackfoot Indians to tour the East.  And got Mary Roberts Rinehart to write about the park.

Legendary park visionary, Stephen Tyng Mather, viewed Hill—not as an opponent but as a valued and trusted ally.

But Louis Hill’s legacy is far bigger than just smart advertising: he was an inspired lodge-builder and innkeeper.  More on that during the next few weeks.

SOURCES CONSULTED 

Duncan Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009).

Olin, Susan, Insider’s Guide® to Glacier National Park (Guilford, CT: The Globe Pequot Press, 2003). 

White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: The National Geographic Society, 2009).

PARADISE INN

            There were swarms of skiers getting ready to hit the slopes, to greet us as we walked down the steps of Timberline Lodge—one girl crying because her boots were too tight.  The view was so breathtaking we had to just stare, downloading it to our memory disks.  Then it was down the mountain.

            At Sandy, we stopped for breakfast at the Tollgate Inn Restaurant, well known for its old-timey appearance, great breakfasts, and (in its bakery), the best pecan sticky buns any of us could ever remember eating.  Connie almost cried when she gobbled up the last bite.  Then we moved on through the town of Boring.  I’d waited all my life to tell the story (affirmed to be true) of a certain Pastor Dull of a Boring church—how they’d finally had to move him.  Then it was back on boring (pardon the pun) I-5 again.

            Once past the bridge over the great Columbia River, we were in Washington at last.  None of us were very familiar with the state; in fact, that had been another reason for making the trip: Washington is so far north (like Maine in that respect) that you have to make a special effort to get there.  We could hardly wait to explore it more fully.

            Finally, we escaped I-5 and turned east on Hwy 12; turning north on hwy 7, and east again on hwy 706.  We stopped at the pioneer village of Longmire, famously homesteaded by James Longmire in 1887-8.  Longmire was one of the first to bring tourists up to Paradise Valley.  When his daughter-in-law first saw its king’s ransom worth of wildflowers (due to the 250 feet of rich volcanic soil), she exclaimed, “This must be what Paradise is like!”  It has been called “Paradise Valley” ever since.  John Muir later declared it to be “the most extravagantly beautiful of all the alpine gardens I ever beheld.”  It was also one of the favorite spots on earth for Stephen Tyng Mather, founding father of our national parks.  Mather first climbed Mt. Rainier in 1905; he returned in 1915 to oversee the first road into Paradise Valley (Duncan and Burns, 240).

Mount Rainier

            Ernest, the protagonist in Hawthorne’s “The Great Stone Face,” lived so long in the shadow of that great rock outcropping that his own face came to mirror it.  Just so, Washington’s highest mountain (14,441 feet); so vast that it makes its own weather, is so dominating that its image is indelibly etched into the subconsciousness of all those who live within sight of its great white mass shouldering its way into Washington’s sky, reminiscent of Mount Shasta’s dominance of northern California.  The sixth recorded person to climb it was John Muir (in 1888).  As Muir viewed the wholesale annihilation of Washington’s old growth forests by the voracious logging barons, he felt the Glory of the Northwest was certain to be ravaged as well.  He marshaled the forces of the newly formed Sierra Club, the National Geographic Society, and Northern Pacific Railroad tycoon Louis Hill.  It paid off: in 1893, President Benjamin Harrison made the mountain the centerpiece of the newly created Mount Rainier Forest Reserve; in 1897, Congress expanded it into the Mount Rainier Forest Reserve; in 1899, with President William McKinley’s backing, it became our fifth national park.

Paradise Inn

            But Mather wanted a hotel in Paradise Valley worthy of its mountain.  In 1916’s short summer season, that long-desired hotel was rushed into being.  Great Alaska cedar logs were hauled in from an 1885 burn-site.  The exterior was shingled with cedar. Two massive stone fireplaces anchor the 50 X 112 foot two-and-a-half-story great hall; later, a wrap-around second-story mezzanine would be added for structural support.  The 51 X 105 foot one-and-a-half-story dining hall is almost as grand as the great hall.   A fifty-foot stone fireplace fills its north wall.  The most enduring furniture was crafted by German-born Hans Fraenke, a local contractor; every year for seven years, found him the first to arrive in the spring and the last to leave in the fall.  He hand-crafted (with an adze) the furniture to last—and it has: such things as a 1,500 pound table made of Alaska cedar, two larger than life throne chairs, a fourteen-foot-high grandfather clock, a mailbox made out of a large stump, and perhaps the piece de résistance, a standard piano transformed into an impressive work of art.  Architect Laurian Huffman submits that it is this combination of soaring roof line and oversized furniture that makes you feel like one of the Seven Dwarfs entering Fantasyland because you become so small in relation to them. (Barnes, 56).

Hand-carved Grandfather Clock

            Barnes notes that, “Over the years, alterations and decorative painting have changed some of the details of the great hall, but it retains the grandeur of its early days.  Light streams in from the dormer windows high above the mezzanine, highlighting the repetitive structural framework with posts, beams and trusses that mark the architectural structure of the great hall.  Iron rings grip the cedar poles, added to reinforce the splitting timbers, and a system of cables and metal bracing helps support the building against the onslaught of heavy snow.  During the 1920s, additional cedar beams were added to create a permanent brace against the snow.  The snow!  It is one of the snowiest spots on earth: 640 inches the average (sometimes, up to 900 inches!).  It has been a constant war every year with Mother Nature to save the lodge from crushing levels of the white stuff.  Not coincidentally, units of the 10th Mountain Division in World War II were taught here how to survive winter combat.

THE REALITY

            A million people find their way into this valley every summer; many of them were in the parking lot; fortunately, we had lodge reservations, otherwise we would have had a tough time finding a parking space.  Even though it was almost July, the snow was so deep it was impossible to explore those famed fields of wild flowers still imprisoned in their seeds.  Many visitors sat on the outside deck, drinking in Mount Rainier to the north and the also snowcapped jagged Tatoosh Range to the south.

Custom Piano

            Inside, we entered an island in time.  Around us on chairs and couches were people from all over the world.  Just across from us was an intergenerational family I shamelessly watched: three adorable little girls who clearly had their doting grandfather totally under their little thumbs; their lovely young mother lovingly running fingers through her husband’s hair—a seraphic look of utter bliss on his face; the grandmother alternating between reading, looking fondly at her granddaughters, and staring at the crackling fire in the great stone fireplace on that end of the great hall.  Other tableaus could be found everywhere in the long room.  A pianist plunked away on the monster piano—almost always someone was either taking his picture or speaking to him—he played for hours (songs old and new), applause and baksheesh keeping him rooted to his chair.  Quite simply, it was America as it used to be.

            Later, in the dining room, we lucked out with a window table and stared up at the mountain.  Each waiter sported a badge identifying her/him by state or country of origin.  Later on, I’ll dedicate an entire blog to them—how they are rising above the recession to see and experience the world.  Dinner took a long time for no one—anywhere—was in a hurry to leave that enchanted room.

            Afterwards we listened to a ranger speaking about wildlife in the park, we ascended the stairs, found a table, played a game, and devoured the huckleberry pie and ice cream a dimple-cheeked beauty from Eastern Europe brought to us—she got plenty of exercise serving all of us on the four sides of the long mezzanine.

            The icing on the cake was a serendipity.  Hearing there would be a total eclipse of the moon that night, I took a long walk.  On the way back, perhaps the brightest golden moon I’ve ever seen gradually rose above the eastern hills—its radiance was almost unearthly!  Photographers were already bringing out their cameras to set up for the 2 a.m. eclipse.  I cravenly opted to return to the lodge and sleep instead.

SOURCES:

Barnes, Christine, Great Lodges of the National Park I (Bend, Oregon: W. W. West, Inc., 2002).  [Her entry for Paradise Inn is a must-read].

Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf/Random House, 2009. [There is much about Mt. Rainier in the book].

“Mount Rainier,” National Park Service brochure.

Scott, Dand L. and Kay W., The Complete Guide to the National Park Lodges (Guilford, CT: Globe Pequot Press, 1998, 2009).

“The Tahoma News,” May-June 2010.  National Park Service handout.

White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2009). [Features a most informative section on Mt. Rainier].

SPECIAL NOTE

            Next Wednesday, we move on to Stehekin and Lake Chelan.