We
are back in Seattle… and leaving Seattle.
A
return from the San Juan Islands yesterday was greeted by the
need to prepare for a quick turnaround, as we meet up with Kris
and prepare for the three of us to head off to Olympic National
Park.
It’s
actually more involved than simply heading to Olympic for an overnight.
But I’ll let the daily journals handle the big details…
Day
Six -- Thursday, August 22, 2013
One
of the amazing things about our visit to Seattle is the number
of ferries we need. And this morning, as we leave Seattle and
head out on our adventure, we have some interesting twists and
challenges ahead of us…
To
begin with, we are both going to Olympic National Park and not
going to Olympic National Park today. I’ll get back to this in
the afternoon, when we firmly set our sights on Hurricane Ridge.
As
a more pressing concern, we’re eating at Kris’s apartment, still
have to drop Fenway off at puppy camp, and our ferry is supposed
to leave at 8:50am. Realistically, there is no way we are going
to make it.
And
we don’t. (But we do.) Arriving at 8:52am according to our watches,
the Edmonds-Kingston Ferry is still loading. We’re able to get
our tickets and drive on to claim one of the last spaces to be
filled on the ferry before it departs.
The
car doesn’t like us. In a Safeway filling up, I’ve spilled some
gas on my jeans. Since I’m writing this by effectively looking
in the mirror at the events of today, and you aren’t, I feel pretty
good saying the spill might be a sign.
What
is a sign though? Well… I’m not certain they always work out as
moments we recognize. Often, it really feels like people look
for symbolism and meaning in hindsight, applying importance to
items that are honestly nothing more than coincidence or random
occurrences. Makes for neater connect-the-dots attempts. Speaking
of connections…
In
my notes, right next to the outline of my spilling gas on my leg
it says: “Connect your letters”. I absolutely understand what
this means. I also know Terry managed to get her hands on my notepad.
My handwriting wasn’t always hideous. There was a time it was
pretty darn good. But over the past twenty or so years… yeah…
I get it. We’ve spiraled to the point where it’s awful. In fact,
when I do in-person interviews, I have to revisit my notes as
soon as possible so I can make notations in the margins. Some
things are beyond illegible and I often forget the longer stories
associated with brief notes. Atrocious would be a good word to
start with in describing my handwriting today. So, a connect my
letters warning makes sense.
On
the very next page is this gem: “Whether or not Bob lights fire
to be determined by Bob behaving”. And… I’ve got no clue. Best
guess would be it involves the gas on my leg. We’re staying in
some type of cabin tonight in Neah Bay. The cabins are non-smoking,
so no fire indoors… but maybe I had some plans for a campfire?
The
warning mentions me behaving, and I did spill gas this morning.
So, I’m looking at this as some type of sinister threat. Kind
of a (my words): “You’d better behave, Bob, because you’re flammable
and we have matches.” Expand the concept any way you wish.
Worst
of all, however, is that the note is in my handwriting. So… yup…
this is my note, my sign. And that means there likely was some
discussion, probably for the most part between Kris and Terry,
and I felt it was worthy of jotting down.
So…
as a sign… connecting letters is pretty clear. The fire? Might
be an open fire as part of a relaxing evening to close out a terrific
day. Might be a threat. Might be a piece of evidence I planted
for the authorities to find in the case something happened to
me. I just don’t know.
For
now, we’ve pulled into the parking lot of the Port Douglas Crabhouse.
It’s where we plan on having lunch. And… it’s a place I need to
struggle to recommend to you, because it’s next to impossible
to find (and, I don’t know that I’d recommend the restaurant for
a meal if you did find it)…
Any
internet search you might attempt points you toward Port Douglas
in Australia. Google… Yahoo… I even tried Bing. Australia… Australia…
Australia. Search engines are pointing us far away from the great
northwest of America.
Hmm…
maybe I messed up on the Port Douglas part. Maybe it’s port-something-else
and I just write Port Douglas by mistake.
So,
I started adding in things referencing the state of Washington,
and… BINGO! (Kind of.)
The
Port Angeles Crabhouse. (Or Port Angeles Crab House. (Or Port
Angeles CrabHouse. Spelling and spacing all depends on what review
site that isn’t officially associated with the establishment you
pull up.)) Thing is…
Search
all you want. I really don’t know. They appear to have no web
site of their own. But, I found them. I think.
They
are listed as part of the Red Lion Hotel in Port Angeles, but
the hotel web site lists them as “Restaurant” in almost every
area. (Seriously… the hotel web site does not name the restaurant
on virtually any page. It just lists “Restaurant” under property
amenities, with no working link for that restaurant. Eventually,
I did find a blurb that included a name. Get this… more parenthesis
driven commentary coming up…)
(On
the Red Lion Hotel Port Angeles site, there is a segment that
offers a list providing drop-down links with one of them dedicated
to dining. Click on it, and it opens a segment that… seriously…
has a caption about the best of Port Angeles restaurants overall.
It actually begins by saying the hotel is “surrounded” with fantastic
dining options. Then, and only after explaining that there are
great options nearby, it mentions that if you don’t feel like
hopping in the car, they do have a restaurant on property. It
is there, and from what I found only there, that it is shown to
be CrabHouse. One word, two caps. But think about that… you have
a restaurant as part of your building. It is so delicious and
incredible and amazing that to promote it you write that there
are lots of other places to eat that are close and really good,
but if you’re tired of driving and don’t want to leave they do
have a place on property. Wow. Just… wow.)
How
do I know that I found the place? Because after looking to link
after link and site after site, I eventually found a couple of
images that were familiar. I recognized them as the place.
Which
means… unless I can find my stock of travel-related goodies and
come across a brochure that says Port Douglas like my notes… we’ve
pulled into the parking lot of the Port Angeles CrabHouse. It’s
where we plan on having lunch. And… it’s as completely forgettable
as the staff and marketing department of Red Lion Hotel Port Angeles
seem to agree it is in their promotional materials.
Kris
went with a Dungeness crab dish. Terry and I ordered items to
split: a General Tso’s calamari (that for some reason, according
to my notes, was served with fries), crab and corn chowder, and
what was called Red’s Burger (which, since the overall property
I’m finding is a Red Lion property, has a name that makes more
sense than it might appear).
My
notes say everything was ok, but I don’t recall anything at all
rising above average or even to a level to really recommend. So,
here’s the best thing I can offer that feels like something good…
The
location was pretty cool. The restaurant had nice views of the
water, the hotel appears to be on the water as well, and from
what the web site currently lists the rooms are nicely priced.
(Again… we didn’t stay in the hotel.)
We
only ate one meal at the restaurant. My greatest memory of the
immediate area is that before stopping for lunch, I covered my
leg is gasoline. It appears to be part of a hotel property that
suggests you might first want to eat someplace else. So… apply
your own hesitations about the place as a restaurant accordingly.
Back
in the car and off to Hurricane Ridge.
Olympic
National Park is one of the most striking and diverse of all the
national parks. Whether by actual official park land or associated
elements nearby, it ranges from mountains and meadow to Pacific
coastline and forest.
Our
primary visit to the park is coming tomorrow, and will involve
areas around the Hoh River. For today… and to continue along with
our current location… we are somewhat on the outskirts of what
most might consider the main portions Olympic National Park, even
though Hurricane Ridge shares a designation as part of that park.
And that leads us to a side note of some importance…
Olympic
National Park is in the middle of nowhere. This is far from unusual
when it comes to national parks, and anyone with the love and
experience of visiting will readily acknowledge that the entrances
and amenities often involve remote stretches of roads and lightly
populated surroundings. That said…
Hurricane
Ridge bucks that trend to a degree. It’s less than twenty miles
from the visitor’s center to Port Angeles. And yet, the majority
of that drive is along roads that I have since learned face closings
during the winter. Closer to people… still seasonal and remote.
I
LOVE national parks. I have had the pleasure to visit
several tremendous locations, and I cannot recommend that you
look for and visit national parks enough. Flip side of the recommendation…
bring some water and at least consider some thoughts about towns
and meals before you leave. And now, back to our drive…
The
roads leading to the visitor’s center are pretty interesting.
Bends… elevation changes… tunnels. And Kris is swearing at her
Versa. (Did you remember our earlier tangent involving cars not
liking us and gas and spills and the meaning of signs?)
The
car hasn’t been handling all that well, but nothing so far has
really seemed amiss. No strange noises. No handling issues that
don’t seem to rectify in somewhat short order. In fact, Terry
and I didn’t really notice any problems when we used the car on
our journey to San Juan Island. But there have been occasional
moments where Kris is feeling a difference in the way the car
seems to be handling, and they are getting more frequent (especially
on the turns of this road. When she spots an opportunity, she
pulls over into an overlook area before some tunnels. And there,
we find it.
I’m
checking out one of the front tires, and there seems to be an
issue. Supposed to be four lug nuts. Three of them are loose.
One isn’t there. But—because, of course—the surprising part isn’t
the missing lug nut, it’s the missing bolt. Three loose lug nuts
and one bolt completely snapped off.
I
tighten up the lug nuts we have, and we set off again heading
for the visitor’s center. Kris notices a change for the better
immediately and we monitor the tire for the remainder of this
trip. For now, things with the car have improved.
By
the time we arrive at the visitor’s center, we’ve seen two deer
and mapped out thoughts on following a Mount Olympus view. While
there, on a path just beyond the visitor’s center, we spot a third
deer.
I’ve
been very impressed by many state and national parks over the
years. Some are beyond incredible wonders, and they can provide
an amazing combination of beauty and history. And, the ones we’ve
included around the state of Washington have been especially interesting.
Leaving
the park, we stop at a gas station. I’ve seen a lot of food offerings
added to fuel centers over recent years. I was not expecting to
see a Starbucks in a Saveway. Make of that what you will.
The
Strait of Juan de Fuca is a body of water that effectively separates
the United States from Canada. More specifically, is runs between
Vancouver Island and Washington. Offshoots from the channel reach
the cities of Vancouver and Seattle. (Some people might cringe
when I say offshoots, since we’re talking about geographically
separate areas of water. But, you could come by boat off of the
Pacific Ocean into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, head east and then
break south toward Seattle, then backtrack a bit before shifting
north, pass by San Juan Island and eventually arrive in Vancouver
without ever leaving the boat. Anyway… we’re in the car and there’s
a reason I’m mentioning the Strait of Juan de Fuca.)
We’re
headed to our overnight accommodations, located at the Cape Resort
in Neah Bay. To get there, we’re driving along Route 112, which
is waterside for much of its run toward the Makah Indian Nation
and alongside the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
While
staring at the water after passing the community of Sekiu, I see
something and ask Kris to pull over. I see it again. Water spout.
We get out and head closer to the water. We can make out that
there are two whales in the water, and think we’re looking at
two gray whales, but can’t be completely certain from the distance
and limited show they’re giving us. Minke and humpback whales
have been known to move along these waters, along with plenty
of others.
It
may not get the recognition worthy of the Pacific Coast Highway,
we had a lot of fun and enjoyed the views along Route 112 as we
made our way into Neah Bay. We checked in at the Cape Resort and
then journeyed less than a half-mile to some of the best pizza
you could ever hope to stumble across.
Linda’s
Wood Fired Kitchen didn’t serve good pizza. It was outstanding.
As in, we’re disappointed that our drive in toward Olympic Park
and the Hoh River tomorrow morning won’t allow us to come back
here outstanding… we’re disappointed we’re staying hours away
in Seattle and have no idea of how we could get back here for
more of this on another night outstanding.
We
leave from dinner and begin making our way toward Cape Flattery.
The Makah Reservation is a fascinating area of the northwestern
United States. We never met anyone that wasn’t extremely kind
and accommodating, in a very friendly and casual way. Nothing
was overwhelmingly glamorous, but it was all absolutely comfortable.
We were even invited a few times to attend the Makah Days events
of tribal celebrations, which we were sad we couldn’t do.
The
Cape Flattery trail leads out toward the Pacific Ocean, with a
walk of just under a mile. It is an interesting hike. As we pulled
into the parking area, we had one other car nearby, but we never
saw another person. After an early joke along our hike about an
abandoned car, this lack of seeing anyone quickly developed into
running commentary about being watched.
We
did it near sunset and on a cloudy day, so some of our views were
obscured by almost a fog and dimmer light. And the walk had a
few rises and falls that made it a bit of a challenge even with
not a great distance to cover. But was it ever worth it. Some
of the hidden treasures and small coves were stunning. If we had
been able to view a sunset, words like spectacular would become
involved. It was a lot of fun, and the three of us kept cracking
jokes and laughing, which made the being stalked vibe add to everything
in a strange but fortunately fun way.
We
get back to the car and head to our cabin. We’re staying in what
the Cape Resort refers to as the Neah Bay Rental Cabins. If you
happen to be doing something outdoorsy, like fishing, the cabins
were wonderful. Close to a marina. Very close to Linda’s for a
meal. For us, as we settle in, there’s no television and a noisy
fan.
Day
Seven -- Friday, August 23, 2013
About
six years ago, Terry and I were part of a group of friends that
visited San Francisco and northern California. One morning, we
got up and moving and headed out toward Haight-Asbury, where we
ran into a bit of mind-bending, hysterical contradiction.
It
was about 10:30am and nothing was open.
A
weekday, massively touristy city, one of the most well-known neighborhoods
in the world, and probably the most expensive city in the country
when it comes to cost of living. And nothing was open.
That
was the unexpected part.
Most
of the business hour signs on doors indicated that the shops would
be opening at 11am. One said they opened around 11am. We left
for a bit, came back, and only one store had opened before noon.
Haight-Ashbury.
Everything opened around a certain time, but really whenever and
late in the morning. That, it seems, should have been completely
expected.
I
mention this because we are in a remarkably wonderful area that
involves very small communities. Since we’re heading to a national
park, we’re up and headed out early. It probably shouldn’t be
too surprising that not much is open before 8am.
As
we drive along, we’re laughing about things being closed and our
destination along the Hoh River. Kris is wondering about t-shirts,
and I suggest making one similar to those you find in amusement
parks for roller coasters: “I survived the Hoh.”
We’ve
left Neah Bay, moved over to Route 101, and we’re heading into
the Hoh Rain Forest section of Olympic National Park, using the
entrance of Hoh River Road. Passing through Forks, Washington,
we stop for breakfast at Forks Coffee Shop.
As
we enter the park and begin our drive toward the visitor’s center
and Spruce Nature Trail (the one we walked), we immediately begin
noticing the moss covering the trees.
We
are making stops along the way, including seeing a 270-foot Sitka
Spruce. Estimated to be more than 500 years old, the Hoh Sitka
Spruce broke during a storm about a year after our visit in 2014.
It was 12-½ feet in diameter.
With
a few to select from, we decide to walk to Spruce Nature Trail.
As we finish the trail, we’re debating heading out on another
when the mist in the air begins to thicken. Rain is in the forecast,
so we decide to meander about a bit to some sights closer to where
we’re parked rather than heading off on another loop.
As
we leave the park, the mist is getting heavier. Not quite raining
yet, but getting damper. Returning along the road through Forks,
we stop at Golden Gate, a Chinese restaurant. Then, as it started
to rain, we head over to the First Beach section of La Push Beach.
For
getting back to Seattle, we decide to break off of the trail we
used to get to Neah Bay and then the park, using Route 101. We
pass Lake Crescent, and eventually Lake Sutherland.
Every
so often, things go your way, and our ferry luck continues. We
arrive at the Kingston Ferry at 8:14, but still manage to be there
with enough time to get on the 8:20 ferry across to Edmonds (we
were on the MV Puyallup).
Exciting
two-day outing for us. Olympic proves again the awesome beauty
and diversity found in national parks. Brilliant. In this case,
a virtual must for multiple days in order to cover the vast distance
between sights and trails.
We’re
back home on Friday night. There’s four days to go, and Kris still
has some amazing surprises up her sleeves.