The Mountain that was 'God': Being a Little Book About the Great Peak Which the Indians Named 'Tacoma' but Which is Officially Called 'Rainier'

In Short

This book serves as both a descriptive guide and a historical record of the great peak officially named Rainier. Combining scientific observation with local mythology and personal narrative, the author documents the glaciers, alpine flora, and the pioneering efforts of those who sought to reach the summit. Originally written for travelers and nature enthusiasts of the early twentieth century, the book remains a testament to the mountain’s enduring status as a "moral force" and a focal point of regional identity in the Pacific Northwest.

The Story

The narrative begins with an invocation of the mountain's grandeur, framing it as a sacred entity—a "god" to the indigenous tribes who lived in its shadow. The author establishes the mountain's presence not merely as a geological feature, but as a living participant in the lives of those who dwell near it. He recounts the early history of the region, noting how the mountain dominated the landscape and the imagination of the native "Siwashes," whose oral traditions spoke of its volcanic power and its role in protecting the people during a great primordial flood.

The focus then shifts to the physical exploration of the peak. The author describes the grueling, often perilous efforts of late nineteenth-century mountaineers like Hazard Stevens and P. B. Van Trump, who were among the first to successfully reach the summit. He details the evolving attempts to make this wilderness accessible to the public, moving from the rough, early stage roads to the more formal construction of government highways. Throughout these accounts, the reader learns of the mountain’s changing face—the glaciers that act as "rivers of rock," the deep canyons, and the precarious rock faces that define its northern and western aspects.

A significant portion of the work is dedicated to the mountain's ecology. The reader is guided through the "alpine meadows" and "floral carpets" that emerge near the snow line. The author describes the resilience of the alpine hemlock and the avalanche lily, species that struggle for existence against harsh winds and seasonal snow. He also notes the naming of these landmarks, expressing a clear preference for the indigenous name, "Tacoma," over the official "Rainier," and offers a defense of this position rooted in history and linguistics.

The arc of the book concludes with a call to action for the preservation of the mountain. By highlighting the dangers of uncontrolled development and the need for a systematic, professional administration of the National Park, the author pushes for a future where the peak can be enjoyed by tourists without losing its essential wildness. He leaves the reader with the image of the mountain as a "monarch of the coast," a symbol of eternal silence and beauty that demands both reverence and careful stewardship.

How It Unfolds

The mountain’s spirit The author introduces the peak through its deep historical and spiritual significance to the local tribes. He illustrates how the mountain was perceived as a divine force that shaped both the physical environment and the culture of the region.

The struggle for the summit The narrative shifts to the physical challenge of climbing, recounting the early, dangerous expeditions of men like Stevens and Van Trump. These accounts emphasize the sheer willpower required to navigate the mountain’s treacherous glaciers and rock-strewn ridges.

The path of the traveler The focus turns to the development of the park, detailing the slow, expensive process of building roads to make the wilderness accessible to automobiles. The author critiques the struggle to balance tourist convenience with the preservation of the peak’s natural integrity.

The rhythm of the seasons The final sections detail the mountain’s unique ecology, from the life cycles of alpine flowers to the slow, destructive beauty of its receding glaciers. The book closes by advocating for a centralized authority to oversee the protection of this landscape for future generations.

The People

Central to the narrative is the figure of the indigenous guide Sluiskin, who represents the traditional knowledge and spiritual reverence for the mountain. His presence contrasts with the figures of Hazard Stevens and P. B. Van Trump, the pioneers who represent the era of scientific and adventurous exploration. These men are driven by a desire for discovery and a need to conquer the "unclimbed" peaks, yet they depend entirely on the wisdom of those who knew the mountain before them.

The author also highlights the role of the engineer Eugene Ricksecker, who serves as a bridge between the wild mountain and the encroaching modern world. He embodies the tension between the desire to make the mountain accessible via better roads and the necessity of preserving its rugged character. Finally, the writer Theodore Winthrop appears as a historical touchstone, a man whose observations and writings helped solidify the mountain’s place in the public imagination, serving as an intellectual defender of the name "Tacoma."

In Its Own Voice

"To the great Snow Mountain the Indians made frequent pilgrimages, for they thought this king of the primeval wild a divinity to be reckoned with."

The author explains how the indigenous people viewed the peak as a sentient, powerful entity.

"There were groves of trees he must have planted, so orderly were they set out."

This line describes the author's impression of the meticulously arranged beauty of the high mountain forests.

"Our lives demand visual images that can be symbols to us of the grandeur or the sweetness of repose."

The author reflects on why the human spirit finds such profound meaning in the contemplation of a mountain.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is a meditation on the concept of the "monarch" of the landscape. It grapples with the tension between the mountain as a wild, inaccessible god and the mountain as a public, mapped, and managed asset. The author poses a quiet, persistent question: how can a modern society interact with a wilderness that is simultaneously awe-inspiring and potentially destructive? He argues that the mountain is not merely a destination, but a "moral force," suggesting that the preservation of its beauty is essential to the human experience. The debate over the name—Tacoma versus Rainier—is not just an argument over nomenclature, but an attempt to reconcile the mountain’s deep, ancient history with its modern, political categorization.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the intersection of natural history and local lore will find this book deeply rewarding. It offers a window into a time when the American wilderness was being integrated into the national consciousness, and the prose—while reflecting the formal, earnest tone of 1911—possesses a warmth that makes the mountain feel present.

Modern readers should be prepared for the author's period-specific attitudes; his terminology regarding indigenous people is antiquated, though he writes with an intent to respect their history and naming traditions. The book is also a product of its time in its technical discussions, such as the debate over automobile access, which will feel strangely familiar to those who enjoy exploring contemporary national parks. Reading it feels like looking through an old, well-kept field diary, filled with beautiful descriptions of flora and ice. What stays with you is the author's genuine devotion to the peak, his plea for the "eternal silence" of the mountain to be protected from the noise of our own era, and his evocative, almost religious, appreciation for the way the light catches the summit at the close of the day.