Olympic Proportions – 6.12.21 – 6.18.21
Camping next to a field with a number of huge bulls, we
noticed a warning on the campground map:
Do not go into bull pasture. They
do not play well with others.” The woman
at the campground told us they are real rodeo bulls, on what they call the B
circuit. One cream and brown bull
appeared nearly as large as the bison we had left behind in Montana. We fell into conversation and LCR told her he
was thinking of heading for a road on the way to Olympic National Park that was
designated as unpaved on the map. She
dissuaded us, saying her husband had to be winched out of there twice. I was most glad he decided to take her
advice.
The Yakima River Valley Road is more rolling and less mountainous,
but still there are barriers of a type I have never seen before, to protect the
road from rock slides. They are blocks
of heavy wire mesh with rocks inside.
These look very solid and make me feel safer, but they also make me
wonder, is the danger great enough to require such substantial barriers? There are many rocks and trees at the foot of
the cliffs, and also many warning signs.
We stopped at a state park that already appeared to be in a
rain forest – very damp, tall trees covered with moss, and very quiet. The moss seems to dampen the sound, except
for bird song, because there were over 100 campsites and the place was mostly
full for the weekend. Swimming and
fishing are very big in this part of the country. To me it was still too cold to swim (about 65
degrees). Following the signs for the trail
to bathrooms, I went through deep woods and over logs; it was almost like a
joke. It turned out there was another
way to the bathrooms using paved roads, but it was not obvious.
At Olympic National Park, we found a spot in a campground
that was nearly deserted. This too had a
rain forest vibe, and it was indeed raining for the first few days we were
there. This climate is nature on
steroids. The dripping never really
stops and the plants, trees and ferns and flowers, grow like mad. One morning I found a fat 4-inch slug on the
picnic table at our campsite while doing my yoga. It was clearly out of its element, and gave
me pause during my exercises, to think it may have dropped out of a tree high
above. There are even larger slugs that
live in the area, called banana slugs, that can grow up to a foot long and live
for 7 years. I saw one of those on a
tree but it was in too much shadow to get a good picture.
On Monday the 14th, LCR had a conference call in the afternoon, and after that we headed to Hurricane Ridge. There are four distinct kinds of climate in the park – this is the alpine type. There were a number of deer grazing the mountain meadows at the top of the ridge. They were fearless and let photographers get within a few feet without flinching. (We did not get that close.) The clouds were quite thick, there was fog now and then and snowbanks even in the parking lot. We learned that it can snow as late as July at that altitude (roughly 6,000 feet). We saw a rainbow against a mountainside indicating it was raining. This was a characteristic of the park – it rains off and on most days. It was chilly and windy at the top too, maybe 45 degrees.
On the following day, the intent was to go to the Sol Duc valley, but we did not make it – we got sidetracked investigating the Crescent Lake area (temperate forest climate type). We hiked the trail leading to Marymere Falls, and we were pretty proud of ourselves, because though it wasn’t a really long trail, it did have its strenuous moments, and we are a bit out of practice.
We were really hungry after that and started scouting for food. There are several resorts in the park with restaurants but they were all closed for lunch but not yet open for dinner. So we headed back to Port Angeles and ended up at a local place called Downriggers, right on the wharf with a view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
We could watch the ships coming and going, including some huge oceangoing cargo vessels with tugs to help them turn on their way east, and we could see the mountains of Canada on the other side of the strait. The salmon was delicious as was the homemade blackberry cobbler. We needed a few things and found a store that appeared to be the local equivalent of Whole Foods. Since we were pretty tired it was good that the store was not that big.
The next morning we headed for the Port Angeles Fine Art Center. The Center was closed. Apparently many businesses in Port Angeles close on Tuesday and Wednesday because the long weekends are so busy. But the Webster Sculpture Garden on the grounds was open. This was another hiking trail in itself, winding and sometimes steep, with tree roots and rocks. The sculptures are in the woods – among the trees, above the trees, on the trees, among the rocks – and made of every conceivable material: metal, wood, plastic mesh, wood, rock. Some of them were kind of spooky, like a wire mesh net that looked like a trap, and some wooden branches standing 6 feet tall with what appeared to be pieces of a car body wrapped around them. One did actually look like a mummy nestled among the ferns, with replicas of legs with shoes sticking out nearby. Lanterns in the trees; a ball of rusty metal fencing rolled up with tree branches, a bright-red painted birdhouse high in a tree … a variety of styles, some beautiful, some odd, some downright weird.
The trail was long and I do believe it would have been possible to get
lost. There were several benches
installed by Eagle Scouts. One of these
was in a small clearing which we judged to be the end of the trail. We rested while looking out onto a view of
the harbor below.
In the afternoon we went to the Sol Duc Valley. On the way there was a turnout to a section
of rapids called the Salmon Cascades.
There were no salmon because it was too early in the season, but we
learned they leap up the rapids, against the rushing current, to spawn in July. The rapids can be viewed from a wooden
walkway and observation balcony. A
family of young men left the balcony and walked down to the water’s edge, which
amounted to a short hiking trail full of rocks, uneven ground and tree
roots. This was entertaining, but
watching LCR do the same thing, cameras at the ready and cane in hand to
estimate depth, was not, and for a while I was actually scared for him. He crouched inches from the edge in search of
the perfect shot. One slip into those
rapids and that would be it. The current
was fast and the rocks craggy.
Naturally, he assured me afterward that he was not stupid and had not
been in any real danger.
The hiking trail to Sol Duc Falls is also moderately difficult with mud, tree roots and rocks, with a few steep places, but the falls are definitely worth it. There are 4 beautiful cascades of the Sol Duc river down into the valley. There is mist everywhere and a constant rainbow above the waterfall. The entire area was so damp I wondered how graffiti got carved into the benches along the trail – they were soaked when we were there. There’s a bridge where you can look down and see how deep it is. There’s just something about falling water – maybe the ionization of the air, I don’t know – but everybody who is there can’t help smiling and remarking to each other, even total strangers, how beautiful it is.
I have never figured out why people say hello on nature trails. Of course it is good-natured and friendly, but it always feels artificial to me, greeting people I will probably never see again. Also, I find trail hiking requires a fair amount of concentration, and sometimes I’d just rather not talk. But rather than being a total curmudgeon, I often settle for a smile and a “Hey!” People seem to talk to LCR more than to me and he always responds, sometimes with actual conversation which continues while both parties move on in opposite directions. Seems silly to me but you can’t argue with civility and friendliness!
I have seen more hiking poles on this trip than ever before,
for some reason. Sometimes they are used
singly, sometimes in pairs the way I use them.
People with poles are even more drawn to smile and greet each other, as
if they are saying, Hi, other pole user, don’t we have the best way to do this
hiking thing? I’ll definitely admit the
hiking is much, much easier with the poles, as well as good exercise. I can tell by the way my biceps and deltoid
muscles ache at the end of a long hike, as they take some of the pressure off
knee and hip joints.
The drive to the Hoh Rain Forest (third climate type) the next day was a few hours. I hiked the shorter trail while LCR, who was not feeling the best, elected to go a short distance in to get his photos. I wouldn’t say the rain forest was not as spectacular as the Sol Duc Valley, but the effect was not as great. There is a sign showing exactly where you step into an area of older growth forest. From that point it is different. The trees are bigger and have been there longer. They are quite crowded together, because they get so much moisture from the air that they don’t need to compete for water with big root systems. Sometimes you will see a huge log down, with three or four trees, also huge, sprouting from the horizontal trunk. They call these “nurse logs.”
There is one huge spruce that has been cut up and laid along the trail as an illustration of how big they can get. The log is 190 feet but that is just the trunk. Apparently the entire tree was more like 250 feet, and some can grow to 300. Hemlocks grow very big here too, reminding me of the children’s book “My Side of the Mountain,” where the protagonist Sam builds a home in a hemlock trunk in upstate New York. One type of hemlock looks rather like the Ents from "Lord of the Rings."
So - the rain forest is deeper and darker, with more moss,
and definitely worth the hike, but I felt a bit like a fellow visitor we spoke
to the following day, who said, “I can’t believe the one day I saw the rain
forest, it wasn’t actually raining!”
Indeed, it was dry and sunny that day.
The previous day, at Sol Duc Falls, with all the spray in the air there
was much more of the dark, damp, drippy rain forest feeling.
We made a short stop at Ruby Beach, to sit near the surf and photograph huge rock formations and driftwood logs with fanciful stone cairns built on them and stones hammered into the weathered cracks. This would be coastal, the fourth climate type. We continued to the closest campground but found it was full. We had been warned this might happen on weekends, but the campground was so huge I was surprised they had no space. We had no internet and no cell signal, and thus could not call ahead to inquire or make reservations, so we simply headed south.
A little farther down we found South Beach Park. We turned off and found a narrow strip of
land with one road in and out, into which somehow were squeezed 55 camping
sites, literally on the beach, a few feet from the surf. The guy who met us at the entrance pointed
out a few spots that were left and said, “If you can get your rig in there, you
can have it!” We knew we could get in
because we have a small rig, but also, how could we miss a chance to camp on
the beach? The campground is part of Olympia
National Park, so registration was taken care of at a kiosk near the
bathrooms. (I do like the registration
system they have at this park – it involves a board where you can see at a glance
which sites are open, and you fill out a slip and pay over the internet or by
giving your card number – no cash, no calling, no ambiguity over which spaces
are free.) The listing we had said no electricity
and no water and they were not kidding – the bathrooms had flush toilets, but
not even a sink, only hand sani. This
was an informal place where many of the campers seemed to know each other. The host, who looked like a slightly younger
version of Mr. Miyagi from “The Karate Kid,” said there were whales spouting
out to sea. We did watch for them but
did not see any as far as we know. It
might be hard to tell a spout from a whitecap and the waves were quite high. We like privacy, but this time, we opened up
all the curtains and like most people in the campground, spent the evening
watching the mesmerizing ocean. We turned
in with the roar of the surf (yes, it really is a roar, up that close) lulling
us to sleep.
It was quite windy to do yoga the next morning, but I could not resist doing yoga facing the mighty Pacific. It wasn’t a long workout, and meditation in that wind was out of the question, but it was an unbeatable experience. Once again, there’s something wonderful about moving water.
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