Jessica C Levine
Sitting amid the magic of The Mountaineers Baker Lodge, I’m not sure what warms me most... Is it the hot tea steaming in my diner-style ceramic mug, filled from the continually-replenished carafe of coffee and hot water? (Don’t worry, there’s hot chocolate and apple cider, too.) Is it the magnificent view of Shuksan through the picture window that occasionally reflects the dining hall’s pendant lamps? Is it the people – some of whom I know, many more I’ve just met – making the air crackle with conversation around the aroma of hearty food? Maybe it’s a mix of it all, swirling like the snow off the rooftop of this lodge, all spindrifts and sparkles.
I’m a guest here, as I have been for years, since my friend Kevin Steffa first invited me in the early 2000s. He, however, has a deeper connection to this place: a veteran volunteer host, along with co-host Jule Gust, our friend, his ski partner, and most likely your meal maven. In a rare moment of rest, I hand them a cup of something warm and ask them to share stories of this place, how they got into hosting, and why they keep coming back. With my elbows on the taught burgundy cloth of one of the 12 dining tables, I lean in to listen. Join me, I’ll scoot over. There’s plenty of room for you on the bench.
Mount Shuksan from the dining hall window.
The beginnings
Kevin has been a member of The Mountaineers since the 90s when he took the Basic Alpine Climbing course at the “old clubhouse.” A friend of his dad introduced him to the lodge when he was in college. They arrived, like I did my first time, in the evening, during a storm cycle.
“It was snowing hard in Glacier,” Kevin reminisces, “spindrift avalanches kissing the road edges. The next morning, the cars were totally buried. We broke trail up to Artist Point on cross-country skis, and with skies clearing, we were able to witness both Mt. Shuksan and Mt. Baker in winter wonderment. I was pretty much hooked from that day!”
Jule moved to the Seattle area in winter 1999. She remembers wondering if it would ever stop raining. But as soon as she realized there was snow, she joined The Mountaineers, explaining she “was in awe of the wilderness and intimidated by it, and wanted to learn how to interact with it." Jule recalls, "I came up to the lodge for the first time about 25 years ago, when I was a college student. Our car had disappeared by morning – only the tip of the antenna was sticking out. I was in love!”
Enjoying a perfect powder day. Photo by Kevin Steffa.
Jessica rocking out on a nearby ski tour. Photo by Kevin Steffa.
Leaving the car buried
While not a true backcountry lodge, you don’t need your car once you arrive. “Baker Lodge is pretty unique, at least for this country,” Kevin reminds, “in that it’s located just past the 'end of the road.' There is still a short hike to get to the front door. Since you carry in your belongings, you have to pack and prepare as if it were a real hike - no wheely luggage!”
Volunteer hosts like Jule and Kevin open the lodge, cut steps to the front door, tamp down the trail, and put up informative signs. “Sometimes,” Kevin looks up as if conjuring the stars, “the scene while doing this work is sublimely beautiful and calm.” Other times, the work must be done during a downpour or blizzard. Volunteers will occasionally help, like I did one Friday afternoon in the rain. Soaking wet, I stomped the trail only to posthole through weak spots and drag my booted legs out by hand. I fumbled as I tugged gear from car to lodge in a yellow plastic sled and shouldered large, hand-painted signs to mark the lodge trail and parking. Meanwhile, Kevin was on cruise control, a master in the movements of unlocking doors for guests, flipping switches for gas and heat, and turning valves for water and waste systems. “There were a lot of dynamics to learn, at first,” Kevin shares. “It's an off-grid system, not unlike a cruising boat.”
“My contribution to setting up," Jule adds, “is hauling hundreds of pounds of food into the lodge when we open Friday afternoon, with no trail broken and often adverse weather. I’ve gotten blown over by the wind when hauling the sled. I’ve cried many tears of exasperation.”
“Either way,” Kevin chimes, “as you arrive from the day (or the night), the warm glow of the lodge awaits… a portal into a new world, cozy and welcoming.”
Boots to boot: a full rack.
Settling in to the adventure
The first level of the lodge is full of gear. When I arrived this morning, the walls were lined with climbing skins and the boot racks were covered in colorful combinations of Sorels, Scarpas, and other ski boots – signs of a joy-packed weekend. I kicked off my snowy boots and hung my damp gloves and ski jacket in the drying room before heading up the stairs, duffle and sleeping bag in hand.
In the living room, the stove warmed the green couches, and the atmosphere. Books, field guides, and maps filled the room, as did the movement of folks settling in. I marked my name on the roster and signed up for a slot (or two) of community jobs to help keep things running smoothly. Then, I headed upstairs to secure a bunk bed before beginning the day’s adventure.
You can walk or ski tour right from the lodge, with dramatic vistas only moments away. Kevin is somewhat encyclopedic about the area, having explored all the nearby routes, bowls, and peaks. “We know that not every day is sunny with fresh powder,” he shares. “The main reason the lodge exists is that it's a refuge in a place of extremes. It is a stable base from which to approach these elements at the right time - you can feel the force of the wind and get to know it, poke around at the edges of comfort, but retreat safely to a mug of tea when it becomes too much... You can also strike back out the next moment the sun breaks out!”
Part of staying at the lodge is leaning into the flexibility of adventure. I once joined an outing with Jule over runnels so deep and snow so sticky, we simply dug pits and came back to paint.
They tell me they’ve experienced winds up to 100 miles an hour, strong enough to make the windowpanes bow. “Six inches of rain overnight, anyone?” Jule playfully teases. “How about a surprise six inches of powder on top of that six inches of rain, and an unexpectedly perfect ski day? The lesson is that you can try to pick the best weather window, but even when it looks terrible, there is (almost) always a wonderful time to be had.”
That’s especially true when it comes to mealtime. “When everyone comes in starving with glowing cheeks from their day in the snow, my secret weapon is spicy vegan lentil soup,” Jule shares. “It calms the locust swarm.” According to Jule, meals at the lodge used to be pretty “austere,” often consisting of only canned foods, but since then, it has “evolved into a relatively gourmet operation with lots of fresh and healthy options.” Jule’s modular cooking makes it easy to accommodate various dietary requirements and preferences. “Heck, I even make a vegetable-free quiche option for the children,” she adds.
Guests, including Jule Gust, spending an afternoon painting.
Jule Gust and Kevin Steffa in the kitchen.
A community for everyone
As varied as the boots in the gear room is the mix of people who stay at the lodge, each with their own winter goals and ways of contributing to the lodge magic. Kevin believes the welcoming lodge environment is what allows diverse groups to gather and connect. “Where else can you find organic interaction between a family experiencing snow play for the first time, a student learning a new skill, and skiers returning from a nearby glacier adventure? All of this around a table with great food and a view of Mt Shuksan. It's a true 'confluence node,' the intersection of culture, environment, and spirit.”
“We’ve experienced wonderful celebrations from various cultures, plus food, musical talent, dancing, art, and other creative pursuits,” Kevin continues. His words remind me of the time I met a Japanese exchange teacher who was teaching at an international school in Seattle. One New Year’s Eve, there were mandolin lessons and a Russian band. A Nepali hiking group once ended up having a big dance party. “Usually it’s pretty quiet,” Jule says, “so it's great when it turns into a real party.”
One of Jule’s favorite aspects of the lodge community is its intergenerational nature. “I adore kids at the lodge,” she says. “They run around making noise, and poke their heads into the kitchen to investigate how they can help. Some don't know how to dismember a bell pepper; others teach me new ways to tackle a kiwi.”
“It is democratic, open to the public for a reasonable cost,” Kevin adds. “You don’t need to be a member to stay, although membership has its privileges. You can't separate the culture from the environment.”
Touring Ptarmigan Ridge. Photo by Kevin Steffa.
Joy generated through giving back
Jule tells me that since she first laid eyes on Baker Lodge, she dreamed of being a host, knowing right away how special the place was. “Plus, you get to stay for free,” though the cost of a stay is a bit disproportionate to the amount of work put into hosting. After graduating college, having kids, and completing med school and residency, “I never lost sight of my dream,” Jule shares. “I wanted to see how you feed 60 people without killing yourself. It seemed like a fun challenge.”
Jule and Kevin were on an overnight tour of Mt. Shuksan when they finally decided to start volunteering. “I had not planned on going to the top,” Kevin recalls, “but conditions were sublime. Ice axe in hand, I peeked over the summit and saw the lodge far below. I knew then it was time.”
Knowing how much work it takes to run the lodge, I ask Kevin and Jule why they choose to keep returning as volunteers. “The answer is simple,” they reply. “The environment gives back. Shuksan generates joy. And that joy can be captured by any of the people who stay at the lodge.”
“Baker Lodge is pretty much the only public lodging up here,” Jule adds. “Terrain from mild to wild is right in front of you, with some of the best views in the country. The lodge is like a little landing pod of warmth and community in this place where humans are not really supposed to be lingering. It is my church.”
Magic after hours at Baker Lodge. Photo by Kevin Steffa.
The closing ceremonies
Before departing, I ask for one more drop of juicy insight into being a lodge host. Jule chuckles. “My favorite task is the ceremonial squeegeeing of the toilets.” When shutting down the lodge after a weekend, all pipes must be drained so nothing freezes, including the water in the toilets. “I have to take a sponge and get the last little bit out of the bottom of the bowl,” Jule explains. “It’s a bizarre activity that always makes me laugh. I’m a trained professional with wide ranging interests, and yet here I am. But I love it because it marks the end of another deep dive into the magic world of Baker, and it comes just before the other special moment: sitting here for a few minutes with a cup of tea, when everything has gone quiet. The lodge is clean, the snow is sparkling, Mount Shuksan is smiling, and we put our feet up for the first time.”
Thanks to Jule and Kevin for putting their feet up with me to share the magic of Mount Baker Lodge with you all.
This article originally appeared in our 2026: Issue 1 of Mountaineer magazine. To view the original article in magazine form and read more stories from our publication, visit our magazine archive.
