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Rialto Beach:
It was a Sea Otter whose body was so long that it hunched it’s
back as it ran.
As we were leaving we met some National Park workers that
were marking and measuring the beach for GPS information.
They gave us some advice. There was a nice campground
about 50 miles away. As we talked they also mentioned
Hurricane Ridge high above in the Olympic Mountains where
the meadow flowers were in bloom and the deer so tame you
could pet them.
Mora Campground:
We chose Mora Campground which we found nearby. Site 8
loop A was pretty nice pull through separated from other
campers.
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Mora Campground:
There are advantages to being separated from other campers.
Mostly, it’s the peace and quiet you like when camping. But, I
do like to watch others and write stories about them in my
diary. Campers in tents are lots of fun because they’re always
moving around, seldom in their tents. They often have
children with them and although a hassle when not supervised,
they are tops on any observers list.
We’ll struggle along in our solitude with no electricity, but the
flush toilets are welcome. I left our battery charger in the
men’s room. We’ll pick it up after dinner. Camp rating 2 ½.
Nice, but we’d like electricity regardless of the cool
temperature.
That evening on our walk around camp we heard of another
beach that was so beautiful and mystifying that we thought
we’d like to go to it. It was supposed to be remote, and one
needed to time their arrival with the tide table, being sure to be
there at low tide. For if you missed the tide it would be
impossible to get to.
Doesn’t that sound like a great adventure and a grand hike?
Okay, and we put it on our list for tomorrow.
nd
2 Beach:
We rose early and set out for La Push, a small town near camp.
It was shrouded in fog. The sea was calm. There was a long
barrier protecting the harbor. Inside the harbor was the ‘1st
Beach’. A strange name for a beach. This wasn’t the one we
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wanted to visit. We wanted to go to the ‘2 Beach’. It was
out of town
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2 Beach:
The sun was out and promising to be one of those beautiful
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rare days with no rain. We drove up to the 2 Beach’s pull
off. It was only a mile or so through the forest.
This was old growth for anyone to see. The tall trees were so
numerous you couldn’t count them. Each 3 feet in diameter
and 150 feet tall. And beneath them were several layers of
undergrowth.
At 12 to 15 feet there were smaller trees, and another smaller
group of bushes and ferns.
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2 Beach:
Years ago we had read about the old growth in our home town
of East Granby, Connecticut. Early settlers reported trees 4 to
5 feet in diameter. It was a different forest of Maple and Oaks
but so dense and the canopy so thick that the forest floor was
barren. We’d say today there isn’t a foot of New England that
hasn’t been cultivated at one time or another, and hope that it
won’t be true here on the Olympic Peninsula.
Our trail had been cleared. It was four feet wide and easy to
hike along. The hills however, were steep, and there were lots
of them.
At one point there was a break in the forest and beyond was
the great gray mass. Shortly, it became clear that we were
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overlooking the Pacific Ocean and below us was the 2 Beach.
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2 Beach:
Arlene seldom walks ahead of me. We joke that wild animals
will pass me, but be alerted to her walking behind me We
don’t want her attacked, but all reports are that if she’s second
she won’t be safe.
However, if she’s first look at what happens along the trail.
Step by step it’s grand, and would make a fine video.
We began our final descent down to the beach. The trail
continued to be well built. Few are so well maintained.
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2 Beach:
As we reached the bottom the tide was in our favor. It was
out and there was 200 yards of blackish sand, all the way to the
to the sea stacks. Like at Rialto Beach the driftwood had been
pushed up against the steep hills.
The end of the trail led us to a barrier 20 feet high and 40 feet
wide. We crawled over the driftwood. Our enthusiasm carried
us up climbing from one log to another, holding on for dear
life while reaching across another and ducking under others.
We survived, with no broken arms, legs or spirit.
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2 Beach:
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2 Beach:
We were so lucky to be here at low tide. We were reminded of
Jones Beach on Long Island, where it’s so far to the shore.
Sun umbrellas and beach goers everywhere. Not here, there
were a few, maybe 10 hikers on the beach, and no umbrellas.
Walking on the beach was easy, the sand was hard packed, tide
pools had star fish and sea anemones. Arlene found a pool
with a Orange Starfish in it clinging to a couple of rocks. The
anemones were waiting for the return of the tide.
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2 Beach:
Children collected a few specimens and ran off toward their
parents to show them.
We walked around, the waves rolled across the flat surface
slowly being swallowed up by the sand. They didn’t retreat.
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2 Beach:
Some hikers waded out to the Sea Stacks and climbed them.
These large mounds were like Hoodoos, where their tops were
protected. They were not granite but made of rocks and
covered with moss and hemlocks.
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2 Beach:
The incoming flood had begun, recovering many pools and
surrounding the sea stacks. We needed to begin our climb
back across the driftwood. The water might rise 6 to 8 feet,
but we weren’t sure just how high. We didn’t want to be
climbing over the driftwood with the waves lapping at our
feet.
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2 Beach:
Climbing the hill on the way back we were surprised that our
legs had so little strength. We instigated our new climbing
procedure. Climb a few yards, stop and rest a while and then
climb again. We made it back through the forest to camp.
Olympic Peninsula:
After dinner, salsa and sour cream, gin and tonic, and wine we
felt refreshed and took a short hike around James Pond. It
hadn’t been maintained like the beach trails, but we were used
to climbing over fallen trees so it wasn’t too bad.
We’re headed north to Cape Flatty, the furthest point west in
the United States
We’ve been to Acadia National Park in Maine, and on Cadillac
Mountain where we could see the first sun rising over the East
Coast. That was swell. Here on the west coast we were
disappointed when we reached the Cape.
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Olympic Peninsula:
What we saw were freighters entering the Strait of Juan de
Fuca. Each piled 6 box cars high headed for port in
Vancouver or Seattle.
The Strait is a major fault line between the North American
and Pacific plates. It defines the deep water all the way into
Puget Sound and the submarine base at Bremerton. It also is
the defining line along the mega-population from Vancouver
through Seattle to Olympia, the Capital of Washington.
Meanwhile along the way there were several interesting sights.
The forest had been harvested. The hillside would be cleared,
bare of it’s timber. Yet, on each side the forest flourished. We
had never thought of clear cutting as harvesting.
We were also on the evacuation route for a type of catastrophe
we weren’t familiar with. Forest Fires, Flash Flood,
Hurricanes and Tornados are all gruesome experiences for us,
but we knew very little about Tsunamis.
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Olympic Peninsula:
We’ve already seen how difficult the shore line was in both the
nd
Rialto and the 2 Beach. They say you should climb over 100
feet to be safe. It would be impossible for us to escape a
monster wave on either of those beaches.
We now turned east along the Juan De Fuca Strait and were
headed toward Hurricane Ridge.
Hurricane Ridge:
Back in Port Angles we found our favorite Safeway, filled the
gas tanks, bought a few supplies, and were allowed to leave our
trailer, parked, while going to the mountain top.
The drive was great fun, 17 miles to the very tip of the
Olympic Mountains. On the way up we saw the strangest
flower a ‘Stone Crop’
It grew along the roadside and on steep rocky slopes. Other
flowers filled the meadows and added a bright cheerful color
to the hills.
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Hurricane Ridge:
On the top were meadows with summer flowers, deer as tame
as pet dogs and a sun to bask in with simple walks around the
snowy glaciers.
This black tailed buck was 20 feet away. We didn’t use our
zoom camera, but were a bit careful. That’s awfully close.
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Hurricane Ridge:
Seldom does one get the chance to look out across a mountain
chain like this. That’s what was so swell about Hurricane
Ridge. One sharp peak after another snow crossing each and
deep lower mountain valleys covered with rich heavy hemlock
and cedar. It was really beautiful. Just think on the other side
of these snow caps is Dan’s and Pam’s home.
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Hurricane Ridge:
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Hurricane Ridge:
It was pretty warm in the bright sunlight so both of us walked
out along the ridge. It was lined on one side with hemlock and
on the other a green meadow that dropped straight down into
oblivion.
It doesn’t look like it but Arlene is sticking to the inside of the
trail. She was resisting the natural gravity from pulling her the
other way.
Later a Ranger at the Visitors’ Center saw me stamping my
travel diary. She thought that was okay and brought a Junior
Ranger’s stamp over for my book. How nice of her.
For years we’ve had a National Park Guide book which
allowed us to collect stamps, pictures and descriptions of each
park.
After a few parks we realized that our guide book wasn’t large
enough. It wouldn’t hold all the parks we’ve visited. As a
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Hurricane Ridge:
remedy we try to remember to either carry my sketch book or
diary when we stop at a center.
On our way back down the mountain Arlene saw a bald eagle.
She see’s more birds than anyone. Suppose it’s because she
never looks down the hills?
Port Ludlow:
We had tried to make reservations in Port Townsend, near the
ferry, but the State Park there was filled. At Port Ludlow we
were lucky to find a spot. It was only a few miles from the
ferry.
For the first time in a while we had electricity. We even ran
our heater, just to prove everything worked.
We did a few chores unhitched and drove around a bit.
Instead of going into the harbor, which was mostly condos
and large boats. All pleasure crafts equally split between
motorboats and large sailboats.
We turned away toward the country club. Port Ludlow is a
pretty spiffy place. In trying to pigeon hole it to the west coast
we had trouble. Mostly because it only had one type of
clientele, expensive, big homes and villages without much
retailing. Well, maybe it wasn’t so different as we thought.
The country club was high in the hills overlooking the harbor
and surrounded by homes. Beautiful tall spruce, lots of
flowers blossoming around each home. Each home nicely set
on their lots. It was an okay place.
We looked over the golf course and signed up for 9 holes, but
didn’t have a choice between the
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Port Ludlow:
Strait on the front side or the timber side in back. We were
assigned the first 9 on the Strait side.
It was grand. The views never stopped, The fairways were
narrow. There were water hazards, swamps with ducks,
cattails, and Redwing Black Birds. There were wild flowers,
Poppies, Bachelor Bottoms, and Daisies. The 3,4,and 5 par
holes were designed for seniors with short Dog Legs, and hills.
We’ve always liked elevated tees and there were several of
them crossing ponds and two streams in the fairways.
This sounds like a dream golf course. One like we’d have lots
of trouble playing, with obstacles and challenges that would
probably make us a bit temperamental. And of course you’d
think we didn’t do so well. Well think again. The tees were
beautiful. The fairways well watered. The greens were
immaculate and true.
My first drive, went like an arrow down off the high tee
beyond the checkered stick. With my 7 iron a great shot on to
the green, and with two putts I came away with a bogie. Next
hole another bogy. Next hole…. next hole, bogy after, bogy.
Every other hole a bogy, for a phenomenal , an unbelievable,
score of 43.
No sand traps, no lost balls in the swamp, no usual balls
dubbed into the ground, only unbelievable fairways and double
or triple putts. Never before, Wow! Was this grand. Boy we
should play it again tomorrow.
Arlene played along for the first two holes, but she was so
excited about my good fortune that she decided to drive us
around in the cart. It was also easy on her neck and shoulder
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Port Ludlow:
which were usually sore after a few holes. We’ll still rub a little
Ben-gay on her neck and wrap it in a towel this evening.
Port Townsend:
Despite our good fortune on the golf course yesterday, we
didn’t stay to play another day. We left early the next morning
and arrived in Port Townsend in time for the 9:30 ferry. Two
hours before we were scheduled. A gate keeper was glad to
see us and actually measured our rig’s total length. It turned
out we had overestimated our length and it cost us less than
we thought.
Port Townsend is a small town with a weird ‘Pigmy Kayak’
company. Whatever that would be, we’re not sure. Their
campground seems to always be full.
We drove onto the ferry to the very bottom. It’s
uncomfortable parking there, but guess it’s the best place for
the heavy vehicles.
We’re off headed for the mainland and Washington’s Cascade
Mountains.
It’s ‘JUST AROUND THE BEND’.
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APPENDIX
California:
Eastern Trip: Milford through Lassen National Park to
Klamath Falls.
Western Trip: Sequoia National Park to Redwod National
Park.
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Oregon:
Eastern Trip: Klamath Falls to Crater Lake through Bend to
the Columbia River.
Western Trip: Redwood National Park to Medford, Crater
Lake, west to Coos Bay along the Coast to Ashford and
Portland.
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Washington:
Northwest Passage through Washington:
Columbia River north to Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Rainier. Port
Orchard, Seattle, Olympia National Park, the Rain Forest, and
Butchart Gardens in Victoria, Canada
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Butchart Gardens:
The Gardens at Butchart:
Sunken Mediterranean
Italian Rose
Japanese
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