Sunday, 16 June
Well-insulated against the chill outside in our little cabin, we enjoyed fixing and eating our breakfast on our first morning in Forks. Then, we headed out to the Hoh Rainforest. While also very green and rainy, the Hot was different from yesterday’s rainforest: the trees were even taller, further apart, and even more uniformly moss-covered. Walking through them is probably the most cathedral-adjacent experience I’ve had in the wilderness.
I was particularly glad to convince everyone to set out on the multi-hour walk to Gordon Hempton’s One Square Inch of Silence. The self-titled ‘sound tracker’, Hempton is an ecology and sound recordist who has made his living recording nature and searching for pockets of natural quiet in the busy modern world. Two to three hours down the Hoh River Trail is a spot that he and his decibel meters have determined to be the quietest place in the United States. Hempton aims to protect it for future generations, campaigning for the few flight paths that traverse Olympic National Park to be rerouted and local regulations to recognise the spot’s importance. Marked by a small red stone, OSI isn’t on any sign or maps, but you can easily find its coordinates online. Standing there silently with nothing but birdsong and moisture in the air is a powerful experience. True to OSI’s mission, we didn’t say a word.
Although I didn’t get to see the black bear yesterday, I had my own powerful experience with a wild animal on the way back along the trail. In the middle of a particularly dense patch of ferns, I looked over to the right of the path to see a female elk nibbling on a tree. I’d been silently, watchfully walking along, but I hadn’t heard it approach. It was like an apparition — a large, close one, too. As we held each other’s gaze, I felt suspended in time. Thoughts of the ‘Beware aggressive female elk with calf’ sign at the start of the path raced through my head; I’m sure she was similarly wary. Spotting an animal in the wild that could really hurt you is very different from coming across twittering birds or a cute squirrel. I felt an unfamiliar respect, even awe. Then, our group prudently turned and kept walking.
Having picked up reviving ‘Mexican mochas’ from one of the many specialty coffee huts in Forks, where almost everything is drive-thru, we collapsed on the sofa back at home. Dinner was a feast of salad, cheese and a selection of smoked fish from Josephson’s (my favourite by far, too greasy for the rest, was the incredibly unctuous black cod). Afterwards, we decided we might as well put on the first Twilight movie, but I could only stomach about 15 minutes of it. How is it possible for writing, and especially acting, to be so egregious? I also felt a bit bad for the Quileute Tribe, who are portrayed in Twilight as werewolves. It’s a Halloweenization of their creation myth; they are said to descend from a pair of wolves transformed into humans by the creator Kwati. I listened to a talk about the tribe and its legends as a corrective bedtime story.
Monday, 17 June
Our drive along the northern edge of Olympic National Park, near the Strait of Juan de Fuca with Canada on the other side, was punctuated by stops for brunch, beach, and Blue Mountain. First up was Joyce, WA, for some food.
Gordon Hempton lives in this town, and it was immediately clear why: there’s almost nothing there, and it must be very quiet once you get off highway. The roadside Blackberry Café and its moody teenage server did not look promising, but the ‘biscuits and gravy meal’ I enjoyed with every hot sauce on the table — that’s half a serving of the eponymous dish with scrambled eggs and an unnecessary but delicious side of patty sausage — was a very good example of the form. It was An Experience, and in a good way.
Saltcreek Recreation Area yielded an unusual confluence of stream and beach, full of amazingly multi-coloured seaweed and purple-shelled clams. Eleanor and I explored the intertidal zone while the others rested, enjoying the beach’s picture-perfect framing by pine tree-covered hills.
A few hours later, we were climbing up a stressfully guard rail-less single-lane road towards the top of Blue Mountain, purportedly home of the easiest summit trail in the area. The road got more and more gravelly, and the air foggier and foggier, the higher we climbed. On one side was the huge body of the mountain; on the other, a perilous drop into a fir-pierced vortex of mist.
When we finally made it to the top, we were greeted by a lonely parking lot turned into an island by the dense fog (no sweeping views today). A family of deer were grazing close by; they didn’t seem bothered by our arrival. My sisters, Alfie and I got out to finish the walk up to the actual summit. The Douglas firs all around, turned shrubby by the elevation and wind, had a heady tangerine scent, and the ground was covered with star-shaped white and pink flowers, like in the Alps. Even in the gloom, it was incredibly beautiful.
The deer followed us up to the top, and we spent a few minutes there watching them canter around, playing with each other like dogs. I made sure to get in a walk through a snow patch — always a thrill to do something like that in the summer! The drive back down the mountain was not as painful; perhaps it was just a bit faster.
Sadly, this was our last day in Olympic National Park, land of moss and banana slug veneration. We got to Port Townsend, our pre-Seattle stop for the night, just in time to visit Propolis, a Belgian-inspired brewer of mostly foraged gruit and kriek beers. I’m very glad that someone at the Northwest Cider Cup (I forget who) recommended it for our road trip; the beers were all excellent. I enjoyed my lavender-and-chamomile saison, but my favourite was probably the sage stout Alfie tried; it was deeply savoury and olive-scented.
Our visit to the taproom was made even better by the soundtrack: Kraftwerk and other early electronic artists were on the turntable, and Alfie got chatting to the old boys who were in charge of the playlist. Moreover, amusingly, the other clientele were straight out of our part of Cornwall, what with their tastefully dishevelled expensive outdoor gear and long-ish hairstyles. (Only the next day did I read in a local magazine that Port Towsend is a hub for independent boatbuilders!)
The largest town in Jefferson county with its population of just over 10,000, Port Townsend has a similar wistfulness to Astoria. When a small place is stretched out along the water and all its local industry is (or was) about that water, you get this lingering sense of wanting to be out there in the mist, of wanting to be on a boat. Stuck on shore, I enjoyed the small beach next to our motel, which was studded with more purple shells.
Alfie and I watched the sunset over another (small) beer at the excellent Pourhouse, a waterfront bar with welcome firepits and New Yorker cartoons in the restrooms (a vibe). I’d probably choose Astoria over Port Townsend, given its handy location between my beloved Portland and the Olympics, but this place was pretty cool, too.
Tuesday, 18 June
Well, someone had to forget something at one of our hotels eventually; it turned out to be me with my Fitbit at the Port Townsend motel. Luckily, we were only three minutes away in the historic downtown when I noticed, and I had plenty of time to go back and grab it before our ferry to Whidbey Island.
It was a gorgeous, sunny ferry ride over the still blue waters of Puget Sound. We spotted various jellyfish as well as frolicking harbor porpoises; still no whales, sadly, killer or otherwise. Once on Whidbey, which is big enough to not really look like an island but has that laidback, vacation-y feeling in its small towns, we drove to the house of one of my mother’s oldest friends. She had offered to host us for a day and show us around her corner of PNW.
A walk along the cutesy high street of Langley (‘Whalecome!’) and its local artist galleries, boutiques, and ice cream shops was followed by a stroll to the bird-filled lagoon and beach near Linda’s house. There, we admired the art collection — as much by Linda herself as by the aforementioned local artists — and enjoyed some of her neighbour’s home-smoked salmon.
Her husband shouldn’t have told us that he used to work in the wine business in Napa and other places, as this led to Alfie and me quizzing him for most of the ensuing dinner. However, he took it all in good humour — over local Cabernet and Chardonnay, naturally. I’m very glad we took a day out of our trip to visit them: it was a lovely time with fun people. Best of all, their art-filled house came with three adorable cats and a welcome hot tub!
LOL! A nice surprise to be included in your Substack, Bea. I look forward to reading more of your adventures. <3