An urban jaunt can reconnect you with the joys of Seattle

Hiking in the city is not like hiking in the woods. Mostly, it's better. Some of the differences are obvious, but worth a quick review before we get to the really compelling one.


		KAREN DUCEY / P-I
	Larry Cheek takes notes at Kerry Park on Queen Anne Hill at the start of an urban hike.

In the city, you're not forced to lug your house and pantry on your back. You're in no danger of being eaten by a bear. When you get lost, it's a minor inconvenience instead of a big scare. And you can enjoy amenities unimaginable in the woods, including the Seattle P-I at breakfast and a java chip Frappuccino any time you wish.

But none of these forms the core reason for taking a two-day, 30-mile hike in Seattle. The real benefit is how it recharges your appreciation for the city, engaging its geography and urbanity at an unforced two miles an hour.

In the normal course of life it's so easy to get swept into the swirl of Seattle's frustrations -- the congealed traffic, parking tickets, taxes for an unbuilt monorail, unreachable housing prices. On an urban hike, none of this matters. For once, you savor the city's beauty without qualifying asterisks.

And, in fact, it is beautiful. I've done a lot of urban hiking, and I haven't found any city in North America that is so ingratiating on foot. I encountered coyotes in the middle of Phoenix, a bewitching pleasure, but that city's sprawl is so vast that it would take a week of walking to hit the best scenery, and there would be appalling stretches of desolation.


		KAREN DUCEY / P-I
	The Eighth Avenue steps on Queen Anne Hill were built in 1914 by architect W.R.B. Willcox and include Moorish arches and detailed lighting fixtures.

Seattle's compact size makes it easy to chart a hike that's dense with interesting neighborhoods, scenic views and topographical range. Ours was a loop that on a map vaguely resembles the outline of Texas, beginning and ending at Seattle Center, and taking in Queen Anne Hill, Discovery Park, bits of Ballard and Fremont, Green Lake, Ravenna Park, a slice of the Burke-Gilman Trail, Interlaken and Volunteer parks, and Capitol Hill.

The biggest hurdle in planning a multiday urban hike is finding places to stay overnight. Having a friend or taxi meet you en route and deliver you home for the night would evaporate one of the benefits, which is relief from domestic responsibilities and aggravations. (For the same reason, turn off your cell phone.)

When I hiked the perimeter of Lake Washington three years ago, there was no feasible commercial lodging between Shoreline and Montlake, so I camped in a Lake City church basement (forgive us our trespasses). On this year's route, Google coughed up exactly one B&B near the midpoint. Patty and I dropped off our duffels the day before, and we were ready to hoof it.

Queen Anne Hill is a must-do on any Seattle urban hike for a constellation of reasons: Elliott Bay views, architecture and landscaping, and the contrast of urban textures -- slightly gritty to elegantly self-assured. For me, the prime attraction is its public stairways, some of the city's best.


		KAREN DUCEY / P-I
	Turning leaves and a tanker help frame Shilshole Bay, as seen from Queen Anne.

We take the Eighth Avenue steps, designed in 1914 by architect W.R.B. Willcox, who even included a pair of Moorish arches to frame the route. Great cities celebrate civilization eclectically, and this hidden detail illuminates Seattle's early ambitions.

For people conditioned to the Cascades, ascending Queen Anne is no big deal. Getting off the hill on the southwest side to catch the Magnolia Bridge, however, is a struggle. We anticipate stairways down 10th Avenue, Galer Street and Kinnear Park, but each dead-ends in a screen of blackberry vines. By the time we digress back to Mercer Street we've added a mile to the day's trek.

"I could've scouted it in the car, but that seemed like it would violate the spirit of the hike," I explain to Patty. It's a lame excuse, and she is nice enough not to point out that for me, route-finding by car is an oxymoron.

We eat an early lunch at El Ranchon in Magnolia, for once scarfing a whole basket of chips without guilt. When we hit the loop trail in Discovery Park, we add North Beach just to incorporate some waterfront into our urban hike.

There's something inherently enriching about walking on a saltwater beach, a connection with nature that not even the big lake on Seattle's other flank can offer.

On this fall day, Puget Sound is pretending to be impeccably domesticated, the surf purring onto the beach in ripples 3 inches high. I think the seduction of cozying up to the sea is the underlying whiff of danger, the realization that the interactions of current and wind makes even Puget Sound behave like a living thing, civilized only when it chooses to be. Melville perfectly described the feeling when he wrote that the sea's "gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath."


		KAREN DUCEY / P-I
	Larry and Patty Cheek cross the Ballard Bridge.

We take our first Advil break along Commodore Way, just above Salmon Bay, and make our first intentional route change: After crossing the Ballard Bridge, we'll take a more direct route along 50th Street to our accommodations next to Woodland Park instead of dallying in the downtown Fremont funk. The reasons are frankly pragmatic: to limit the day's trek to a reasonable 15 miles and arrive before dark.

Our philosophy of urban hiking is no different from backpacking: When it quits being fun, quit doing it. We don't mind being tired, but why push on into exhaustion?

The staff at Chelsea Station on the Park couldn't be more accommodating. Our bags are already in our room, and we are welcomed by saucer-size oatmeal cookies on the table. There's just one restaurant within our now-abbreviated walking range, Trattoria Roma, but a menu limited to pasta and pizza is no disappointment after 15 miles. The Quattro Stagioni Pizza With Garlic Crust would have been terrific even if we hadn't craved the carbs.

The second day is virtually perfect for hiking: cloudy, high 50s and a route that incorporates no fewer than six city parks. Woodland Park serves up the most exotic wildlife of the expedition, a free-range peacock, and Green Lake the most unusual human enterprise, a scuba diver. But Ravenna provides the most engaging bit of natural history along the entire route, a miniature canyon complete with a spring-fed stream. Just this year 650 more feet of the spring were liberated from a sewer pipe and reintroduced to daylight.

In the canyon we encounter another explorer, who's amazed. "I've lived in Seattle all my life and driven by here a million times," he says. "And I never knew this was here!"


		KAREN DUCEY / P-I
	The Cheeks appreciate downtown as they walk across an I-5 overpass on their way from Capitol Hill.

This illustrates what I've long suspected about Seattleites: They're seldom fully cognizant of the natural enchantments of their own city because they're generally encountering it through windshields. Meanwhile, the big playgrounds on the horizons -- the mountains and Sound -- are so compelling that the idea of serious urban hiking never materializes.

But the intimate landscapes in the city offer pleasures that are more accessible physically and emotionally. Hiking the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier provides character-building humility, but the miniature canyon in Ravenna Park is more likely to make us feel a part of the community of nature. As the great conservationist Aldo Leopold pointed out, it's only through that understanding of community that we learn to use the land with love and respect.

In Montlake we pass a young mail carrier on foot and stop to chat. He says he covers about eight miles a day. When I ask how he likes it, I'm surprised by his desultory answer: "It's all right, if you don't think about it too much ... and if it doesn't rain."

I'll readily admit that we would have enjoyed this urban hike measurably less if we had undertaken it two weeks later, in November's relentless rain. But Patty and I had agreed we were going ahead with it no matter what the weather, because that's part of the process of relating to nature. We don't get to re-engineer it for our personal comfort. Trying to do that is exactly what has caused so many of our environmental crises.

Anyway, here's one more advantage of urban hiking as opposed to wilderness: Bad weather probably won't kill you.

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If you go

When planning your route, include as many city parks as possible. This is not only a scenic issue. You'll appreciate the public restrooms.

There are actual guidebooks that can help you plan the most interesting hikes.

"Seattle City Walks: Exploring Seattle Neighborhoods on Foot" by Laura Karlinsey and Sherri Schultz (Sasquatch, 288 pages, $15.95)

"Urban Walks: 23 Walks Through Seattle's Parks and Neighborhoods" by Joan Burton and Duse McLean (Thistle, 207 pages, $16.95)

Another enlightening book for advance or en-route reading is David B. Williams' "The Street-Smart Naturalist: Field Notes From Seattle" (WestWinds, 224 pages, $14.95).

Unless you consider getting lost to be part of the fun, pack a detailed street map (we used the GM Johnson Greater Seattle book) in a clear plastic bag to keep it dry.

For overnight accommodations, B&Bs are better than motels and hotels because they're in quiet residential neighborhoods. Disadvantages are late breakfasts (usually no earlier than 8 a.m.), and a possible shortage of nearby restaurants for dinner.

Lawrence W. Cheek is a freelance writer on architecture and author of "Frank Lloyd Wright in Arizona." Contact him at escrito48@comcast.net.

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