Where I grew up, the fall season is defined by crunchy leaves, colorful tree limbs and crisp, cool air. It's about buying gourds at nearby farms and welcoming a reprieve from thick humidity. Back home, fall is my favorite season.
I feel a little differently now that I live in the Northwest. Don't get me wrong, the Northwest fall is beautiful, but it pales in comparison to the seasons I experienced in the Midwest. Plus, the fall is a bittersweet transition for backpackers like me.
Here, fall means the end of a glorious summer backpacking season — one marked by soul-sucking mountain climbs, cool dips in alpine lakes and hammock sleepovers beneath the stars. It also means the beginning of the rainy season.
Knowing this, my friends I celebrated the end of our summer with a one-night camping trip in the Olympic National Park this past September. We easily picked one of the most beautiful walk-in campsites I've ever seen. Once there, I immediately got to work tying my dust-covered ENO hammock on two thick trees that bordered a clear, blue-green lake. I then opened a couple cold (ish) bottles of beer and relaxed with my friends near the water. We even took a quick dip in the chilly water, a purple-blue mountain view in the distance. Everything about that trip felt, tasted and looked like summer. And then, like clockwork, the Northwest transitioned to fall.
We woke up the next day to the pitter patter of raindrops on our tents. The wooden tables where we had made tacos the night before were swollen with water. Rain drops dimpled the blue-green lake that only yesterday had sparkled in the sun.
It was an abrupt baptism beneath fresh rain clouds — a fitting welcoming to what we PNWers refer to as "the rainy season."
I'm not bitter about this transition to rain clouds. After living out west for four years, I'm well acquainted with Northwest winters. I moved out here in December 2013 and was greeted by nearly two months of nonstop rain. Sometimes the cold, grey weather gets me down. Other times, like this past weekend, I'm reminded of the beauty it creates.
Sure, I won't be taking many dips in alpine lakes this winter, but I'm not retiring my hiking boots anytime soon. If anything, they need a little rain to wash off the summer dust.