After the Fire, the Forest Begins Again

Jeff Slakey | Story

A year after the Bear Gulch Fire swept through the forests above Lake Cushman, a walk into Staircase in the Olympic National Park reveals something unexpected among the blackened trees: life. Lots of it.

I made the trek up to Staircase at the end of August. It had been on my list all summer, but somehow summer has a way of filling itself, and the trip kept getting pushed to another day.

I had forgotten what a beautiful drive it is. Lake Cushman appeared through the trees, impossibly blue in the late-summer sunshine. Boats dotted the water. Families lingered along the shoreline, squeezing a little more out of August. Near the north end of the lake, I pulled over for a moment simply to look.

A year earlier, this had been a very different place. On July 6, 2025, a human-caused fire ignited the steep, rocky southwestern slope of Mount Rose above Lake Cushman. It would become known as the Bear Gulch Fire. What began in Olympic National Forest grew through a hot, dry summer. By late July, the fire had moved toward Olympic National Park, crossed the North Fork Skokomish River and entered wilderness areas. Hot, dry weather and easterly winds fueled periods of rapid wildfire growth in August and again in September. By the time it was declared fully contained on November 12, the Bear Gulch Fire had become the largest wildland fire on the Olympic Peninsula since 1951.

For those of us who live around Hood Canal, watching it unfold was painful. As media we were offered daily updates from the fire service and each report was more grim as the weeks ensued.  Staircase isn't simply another entrance to a national park. It is our backyard swimming hole, Sunday hike, picnic spot and the place we take visiting relatives when we want to casually remind them how lucky we are to live here.

Then, for nearly a year, it was closed.

On July 8, 2026, Staircase welcomed visitors back. The road, campground, ranger station, developed facilities and Staircase Rapids Loop Trail reopened, although wilderness trails farther into the burned area remain closed while crews continue assessing hazards and repairing damaged infrastructure.

It isn't the Staircase we remember.

But perhaps that's the point.

Signs of the fire appear immediately. Some are literal signs—warnings marking closed or burned areas and reminding visitors that hazards remain. Others are written across the landscape. Along the Rapids Trail, trunks stand blackened against the sky. Fallen trees lie where they came down. In places, the forest floor is startlingly open where dense vegetation once crowded the trail. The scale of it is sobering. And then you notice something else.

Green. A fern unfurling beside a burned stump. Flowers blooming in newly opened sunlight. Birds moving through branches overhead. And perhaps most fascinating are the places the fire simply missed. Fire does not move through a forest like a paint roller. It skips, turns and changes intensity with wind, moisture, slope and fuel. One patch can be scorched while another nearby remains green. The result is a mosaic—black, brown and every imaginable shade of green.

It looks chaotic to us. To a forest, it is an ancient pattern.

We tend to think of the Olympic Peninsula as a place defined by water: moss-draped trees, swollen rivers, dripping ferns and forests so green they almost glow. But fire has been part of this landscape for thousands of years.

Scientists find its history in charcoal, tree rings, fire scars and the ages of forest stands. Evidence suggests enormous portions of the north, east and south Olympic Peninsula burned during major fire episodes roughly 300 to 500 years ago, with another cycle affecting many eastern watersheds about 250 years ago. Some of the forests we now consider timeless wilderness grew from those fires. Walk through parts of the Elwha and Morse Creek drainages, for example, and relatively young stands of Douglas-fir reveal the outlines of burns that occurred generations ago.

The Olympics have always lived on a rhythm far longer than our own. On the wetter western side of the peninsula, centuries may pass between major fires. On the drier eastern and southern slopes, fire has historically returned more frequently. Douglas-fir, with its thick protective bark, is particularly well suited to this relationship.

Fire opens the canopy and sunlight reaches into places that may have been shaded for decades. Nutrients locked inside vegetation return to the soil.Shrubs, grasses and wildflowers move into newly opened spaces. Eventually young trees follow. What looks at first like an ending is also succession.

Not every fire is beneficial, of course. Human-caused wildfires are preventable, and the Bear Gulch Fire brought real costs—to wildlife habitat, recreation, park infrastructure, firefighting resources and the people and businesses connected to this corner of the peninsula. We should learn from it. But we can also recognize that the forest knows what to do next.

Standing there among the burned trees, I kept thinking about a line from one of my favorite movies, Jurassic Park. Dr. Ian Malcolm, played by Jeff Goldblum, famously observes: “Life finds a way.” It certainly has at Staircase.

The more time I spent looking, the less the landscape seemed dead. It was busy. Birds called from the trees. Insects moved among flowers. New foliage crowded around old trunks. Plants took advantage of patches of sunlight that hadn't touched the forest floor in years.

Even the surviving trees seemed more remarkable because of what surrounded them. A burned landscape makes you pay attention and look at the forest not as a finished picture, but as a process.

“It would be easy to mourn what Staircase looked like before the Bear Gulch Fire. And there is nothing wrong with doing that. But forests aren't museums. They don't stay frozen in the version we first fell in love with. They flood. Trees fall. Rivers change course. Windstorms open the canopy. Fire arrives. And the forest responds.”

Thanks to the extraordinary work of firefighters, park employees, road crews and many partner agencies, visitors can once again drive to Staircase, stop at the ranger station, cross the bridge over that astonishingly clear North Fork Skokomish River and walk beneath the towering trees.

Some of those trees are green. Some are black. Some are gone altogether. And beneath them, the next forest has already begun. Perhaps that is the reason to visit Staircase now. Not despite the fire. Because this is a rare opportunity to watch one of the oldest stories in the Pacific Northwest unfold in real time.

Come back next summer and it will be different. Come back in five years and shrubs and young trees will have changed the view again. Bring your grandchildren decades from now and the forest they walk through may bear little resemblance to the one we see today.

The blackened giants will eventually fall. New trees will rise among them. The scars will soften beneath moss, fern and salal. And somewhere beneath all that green, charcoal will remain in the soil—the quiet signature of the Bear Gulch Fire of 2025. A reminder that a forest is never really finished. It is always becoming.

Mountain Glory Lodge Opens Its Doors at Lake Cushman

Tucked into the quiet beauty of Washington’s Lake Cushman region, a new retreat is inviting guests to slow down, breathe deeply, and reconnect—with nature, with loved ones, and with themselves. Welcome to Mountain Glory Lodge, a thoughtfully designed getaway where modern comfort meets the restorative power of the Pacific Northwest.

Surrounded by towering evergreens and filtered lake views, the 2,200-square-foot, two-story home feels both expansive and intimate. From the moment you arrive—passing through a private gate and stepping onto the property—you get the sense that this is a place meant for unwinding.

Inside, the lodge blends warmth and intention. A live-edge wood dining table anchors the main living space, inviting long meals and even longer conversations. Nearby, a fully stocked kitchen—complete with a gas range, convection oven, and coffee and tea station—makes gathering effortless, whether you're preparing a casual breakfast or a celebratory dinner.

The home comfortably sleeps six guests across three bedrooms, including two private king suites and a third room featuring a queen bed with a twin XL bunk. Downstairs, a game room adds flexibility (and fun), with a trundle bed and queen pull-out sofa ready for extra guests. It’s a layout that works equally well for families, couples traveling together, or small retreats.

In the main-floor master suite, a spa-like bathroom offers a daily ritual worth savoring: a walk-in shower with dual luxury shower heads, designed to feel more like a boutique hotel than a cabin in the woods.

But it’s outside where Mountain Glory Lodge truly shines.

A sweeping, two-level wraparound deck extends the living space into the landscape. Here, mornings begin with coffee and birdsong, while evenings unfold around the custom outdoor BBQ area, where a Weber grill and Blackstone griddle make cooking part of the experience. A smokeless firepit flickers nearby, and a soft-style hot tub offers a place to soak under the stars.

For those craving activity, the property delivers more than expected. A lighted pickleball court, basketball setup, and classic yard games like cornhole and ladderball create easy opportunities for play. Inside, a pool table and game room keep the energy going, while a collection of yoga equipment, free weights, and even a massage table cater to guests looking to recharge more intentionally.

Despite its many amenities, Mountain Glory Lodge never loses sight of its purpose: to create space. Space to disconnect from the rush of daily life. Space to reconnect with what matters. Space to imagine what’s next.

With modern touches like keyless entry, smart TVs, Bluetooth surround sound, heated floors, and mini-split AC units, the home ensures comfort in every season. And yet, it’s the quieter details—the naturescape fountain, the filtered lake views, the hush of the surrounding forest—that linger most.

Mountain Glory Lodge is now welcoming guests and already booking quickly. For those seeking a Pacific Northwest escape that balances style, substance, and soul, this new Lake Cushman property might just be the place to get a little lost—and find something meaningful along the way.

Rates:
FRI • SAT • SUN $500 A NIGHT
MON - THU $350 A NIGHT
A $250 Cleaning Fee will be Applied to Each Stay