September 8, 9
Beth told us that the Olympic peninsula was an unknown paradise. Time forced us to decide between Olympic National Park and Mt. Rainier/Mt. Saint Helens, and based on Beth’s reviews, we opted for Olympic. Besides, we’d gotten a rare glimpse of Rainier from Seattle, and were convinced that it is enormous.
[Thanks for your hospitality, Beth!]
Off to Olympic then. One of Aaron’s highlights of his life was driving onto the ferry that bore us across the channel. It was big, and it was fun to add a new means of transportation to our road trip repertoire.
[On the ferry's deck -- just long enough to snap this shot]It was a foggy, damp, bone chilling morning, so we wanted coffee of course. Rumor had it that Port Angeles was a quaint town. Actually, it was a depressing, ramshackle town with odd citizens and no driving regulations that we could discern. We stopped at Mama’s Café, which sounds like a promising place for a cup of coffee, right? While it did offer coffee, it also offered haphazard decor. Located in an old fire house that hasn’t been changed much since it specialized in putting out fires, the place was eclectically cluttered with chintzy Victorian items and tacky diner accessories.
It was a relief to leave Port Angeles behind – although their signage doesn’t make it easy to do. Our first adventure into the park was Hurricane Hill, a gradual ascent to a treeless ridge that gave us a 360 degree panorama of the surrounding mountains. Scanning the endless peaks reminded me of looking out over ocean waves; it was a sea of mountaintops.
[The sea of mountaintops, hazier than in real life, but it gives you an idea...]We spent the rest of the afternoon driving along the Washington Coast toward an alluring looking campground near the beach. As the day wore on, ominous clouds gathered in the distance. We reached the campground and selected a sweet, secluded site nestled amongst pine and deciduous trees just after the raindrops started splattering on our windshield.
“We’re camping in the rain,
We’re camping in the rain,
Heigh-ho the dairy-o
We’re camping in the rain.”
What does one do when one is camping in the rain? One tries valiantly to stay dry, of course. One huddles under a tarp, eating popcorn and playing Scrabble, and feeling irritated at every raindrop that manages to find its way down one’s neck.
“One” was actually two, in this case. What do you expect when you camp in a temperate rainforest? All in all, it was a very pleasant rain camping experience. Aaron managed to stoke a cozy fire, and by the time we ran out of dry wood, we were ready to toss the tarp over our tent and catch some winks.
[Kelp (we think) on the beach near our campsite]The rain had mostly subsided by the time we woke up, but everything was thoroughly drenched. Aaron cooked up some tasty eats for breakfast –- eggs and pancakes were on the menu this time –- and then we packed up our soggy camp and headed to the rainforest.
(The cherry on top: we camped for free. When I went to register our site after we’d set up camp, I realized that someone else had already chosen, paid for, and abandoned the site for that night. I guess they didn’t have a theme song about camping in the rain.)
First stop: Hoh Rainforest.
Sandwiched between the ocean and the mountains of Olympic National Park is a temperate rainforest. Enormous Sitka spruces and hemlocks are draped in moss so thick that sometimes it resembles a sweater. Clover the size of a silver dollar and large ferns crowd the forest floor.
[The Maple Grove in the Hall of Mosses]My favorite part: nurse logs. When a tree falls, saplings that can’t take root in the forest floor fasten themselves to its trunk. They feed off of the decaying wood and grow tall and strong until, hundreds of years later, the nurse log has completely decomposed and huge tentacles of roots that originally wrapped around the log elevate the “sapling” off the ground. In places, there’s a whole row of these that used to line a nurse log.
[A decaying nurse log and "sapling" off shoots. Remember, Aaron is 6'4"]Unfortunately, the temperate rainforest was cold and damp, so Aaron and I left after a bone-chilling hour in search of coffee.
We wandered around Ruby Beach, where the Pacific surf pounded drift logs and “stacks.” Stacks are rocky monoliths that remain after the water erodes their accompanying cliffs. They dot the coastline like towering islands.
[A stack on Ruby Beach. The crashing water had eroded two big "windows" in the middle of it.]The beach was covered with small rocks in lieu of sand, and I loved listening to the waves recede through the stones, whishing and crackling its way back to the sea.
[They are serious about their "driftwood" here]
Photo opportunities were numerous, but we still hadn’t found coffee and it was still overcast and chilly. Onward ho. Shortly thereafter, a large latte in hand, we wandered down to another beach where the sun was happily shining and lunched on wild blackberries and Cheeto’s (thanks again Mom ). Mmm... Delicious. Then we bombarded driftwood with rocks until we had illustrated a valuable object lesson about why the military developed larger and larger bombs during WWII, and then continued our drive down the picturesque Washington coast.
Fast-forward a few hours. Now the fun begins. As evening wore on, we left Highway 101 in search of a good spot to see the sunset over the Pacific. Seaview sounded promising. As we approached the beach, we were surprised to see signs advising cars to drive on the hardpacked sand closer to the dunes. Was there a road on the beach? Could we actually drive on it? “We’ve got front wheel drive, we’ll be fine. Go for it ” Aaron confidently cheered. I was behind the steering wheel, and as I timidly edged out onto the sand, quivering and stammering, Aaron kindly offered to drive.
“Yes please.” It would be just my luck to get us stuck in the sand, so I’d rather enjoy the drive from the passenger’s seat.
As we pull out onto the sand, Aaron explains, “the trick is not to stop. Just keep moving.” And we do. “Yes I’ve always wanted to do this ” I hold on tight, snatching a few seconds of video on our camera. “I hope we don’t get stuck,” the driver jokes.
A minute later: “I hope we don’t get stuck...” This time, there’s no joking in his tone. “Crap, we need to go back. I need a high spot to turn around...” Uh-oh. A high wide spot approaches. Aaron swings the wheel. Our two-wheel drive Honda careens in a desperate U-turn. Aaron gives it all we’ve got... But it isn’t enough. We’re not moving any more, but we’ve got a great view.
The thrill of adventure is still pulsing through our veins. We exchange an amused grin, and Aaron opens the door to see how deeply dug in we are. I remember his stories of digging out Tim’s orange truck during muddy four-wheeling episodes in high school, and I’m not worried. Besides, we have the friendly citizens of Seaview on our side.
Within seconds, three high school guys are heave-hoeing on the back of our car. We grumble forward a couple of feet, and dig ourselves farther in. On cue, two dudes in a four-wheeler pull up with a huge tow rope. While they rig it up to the back of our car, I try to snap a few inconspicuous pictures to document our adventure. They haul us back to firm sand and send us off with a friendly admonition not to stop along the way.
[I didn't want to be too obvious, so this was the best I could do.]As we drive, we pass a couple of other rescue missions out to save ambitious two-wheel-drive vehicles. If it were NJ, the town wouldn’t have let us onto the beach. Here in Washington, they just send a bunch of high schoolers to help us out.
Happily, we still haven’t missed the sunset. We drive to the next town, Longbeach, where 25 miles of beautiful, undeveloped beach wins our vote for the best beach vacation destination. We walk the boardwalk built over high dune grass while the sun sets in red glory.
Now for some dinner...
It just so happens that tonight is a big night in Longbeach. It’s their “Rod Runner” event, and hundreds of carefully polished hot rods are cruising and revving their way down main street. We find a crowded diner and get a couple of burgers, and then elbow our way through the masses to find some chocolate mousse chip ice cream before leaving town.
It was like an all-American date, and as we consumed greasy fries and root beer in the diner, Aaron observed that there is probably no other country where you could experience an evening like we did. Sometimes, it is really fun to be a burger-eating, hot rod-gawking, ice cream-licking American.
[Mt. Baker and me]
