3103

Monday July 25

I awoke this morning early: but then I was in bed by nine. Light poured through the half-circle window, and seagulls circled overhead. I looked out the window; the first ferry of the day was making ready to leave. The landlady promised a hot pot of coffee downstairs from an early hour: I went downstairs and indeed there was. I sat on the stoop, watching the town and port come to life below.

Breakfast began at eight, and all guests sat round a large table. We had a fruit cocktail, a broccoli soufflé and pecan scones. I was sitting next to an elderly couple from Georgia. Jack had been a big cheese in Ma Bell down in Georgia, and he made a big deal about living well off the share dividends. When I said I knew good people in Arkansas, his face darkened and made a comment about Bill Clinton coming from that State. He also made a 9possible) joke about being a shame that slavery no longer existed. Another couple, in town for the jazz festival, made their excuses to leave as soon as possible. They looked pleased to escape.

I also made my excuses and left, Heading out west to find route 101: which I was due to follow all the way to Los Angeles some weeks away. First of all, I headed out to Fort Wordon, an old Navy base overlooking the sound. The views were fine: but the lighthouse was closed now, and apart from an RV park, there was little there.

Route 101 ran along the crest of a wooded hill, giving occasional glimpses of fjord-like bays below. The map hinted that there were two sizeable towns before I entered the wilds of Olympic National Park. Sequim claimed to be a city, but really was just a collection of cabins and businesses. Port Angeles was a typical American town, a strip mall, fast food joints and cheap motels. As it seemed to be the last outpost of civilisation for a while, I filled up with gas, and grabbed a coffee. 101 ran along as before, habitation thinned out: hills began to turn into mountains. In the distance, snow-capped mountains could be seen, whilst below, a crystal blue lake glinted in the sunshine.

At last, the road descended onto the shores of Crescent Lake; where I was due to spend the next two nights. Words cannot really describe ho quiet and peaceful it was here, apart from the occasional logging trucks, and a trickle of tourists, not much was on the road. I stopped several times to take pictures, and keeping an eye out for where I was due to stay. After passing the entire length of the lake, I stopped at a trading post, and found the resort was at the other end of the lake. Oh well. I was able to drop my case off in the cabin, and then the afternoon was mine. I headed back along the lake, to see where 101 would take me. Turnings were rare; one went into the National Park itself. I came across a place to eat: The Hungry Bear. All I can say is that the bear would have to be very hungry to eat there a second time.

Further along, I came to a junction pointing the way to a place called North West Point: sounded interesting, and I turned off. It was some 42 miles away, and went through forest, although some was being logged, it was a great drive with little other traffic. After about 15 miles, we turned into the coast, overlooking a town called Sekiu. It was a small fishing village with a small harbour. Out in the channel, a thick mist was being blown along.

Soon, it hit the land, making it cold and grey. Sometimes it cleared long enough to get views along the coast. The road ended up at a place called Neah Bay; it’s the main settlement of the Makah reservation. As I drove along the seafront, I could see a traditional campsite being set up on the beach. Away from the beach, at the back of the small town, salmon was being smoked in a wooden hut. Nothing else tastes the same as freshly smoked salmon.



I headed back along the coast: the mist was still thick in places. I guess it was due to the temperature difference between the land and ocean. Back at the cabin, I sat on a bench outside, watching the sun slowly setting: the colours of the hillsides slowly turning from green to gold, and then to purple. As there was no air conditioning in the cabin, it felt like an oven inside, so I had to open all the windows to get a draught, and so get some sleep.

Tuesday July 36 I woke up at some point towards the end of the night, absolutely freezing. I remember stumbling around looking for blankets in the night. The sight outside the cabin was amazing; the sun was already up, chasing the shadows away from the hills surrounding the lake. I decided to explore the Olympic Park starting with the falls I had been told about in Seattle. Marymere Falls are about halfway down the lake, and it at the end of a half mile trial. As it was early, I was the only person about, and the pine needles on the floor softened my footsteps. The Olympic Forest is what is known as a temperate rain forest, and most of the trees were hung with beards of moss and lichen. All throughout the trail, fallen trees were in various stages of decay.

The falls were stunning: but not in a Niagara Falls kind of way. The water fell onto a sloping face of rock, making the water look like lace. A short drive away was Sol Duc Valley: a picturesque drive alongside a fast flowing narrow river. I stopped off at a longer trail through the rain forest. Words once again fail to do justice to the magnificence of the forest. At the top of the valley was a hot water spa, revealing the volcanic history of the whole peninsular. I did not have a swimming costume with me, so I had to give that a miss: but I took the chance to get some water.

Driving out onto the main road, I headed to the main town on the peninsular, Bend. On the way, I noticed a road sign for the Hoh National Rain Forest. So that was where I would go.

Bend is not a large town. It exists mainly due to the logging industry, and the trickle of tourists that pass through. Apart from the gas station and motel, there is a wood carving museum. And that’s about it: small town America in a nutshell.

The Hoh Rainforest was down a long road, which was pleasant, great views into the interior of the park. Thankfully, the roads do not go very far into the park, so most of it is unspoilt. In fact, only twice did I catch a glimpse of the snow capped mountains at the centre of the park. As ever, at the end of the road is a large car park. There were many well signposted trails of various lengths right up to an 18 mile trail leading to a wonderful sounding place called Glacier Meadows. Maybe next time? I chose the short mile and a half trail. And although the car park was crowded, only a short walk away there were hardly any people at all.

The trail weaved its way through trees of immense size, and spaced out were informative signs to explain why each part of the forest is important. I paced around one tree, and it was 33 paces around. At the end of the trail I came to the edge of a river, a German came by excitedly telling us there were lots of oaks a half mile away. Thinking that, ho hum, I can see oaks any time back home an American woman came by and said there were lots of Elk half a mile away. The elk were on the other side of the river, about 500 yards away there must have been over 20 of them, including calves as well. It was impossible to get too close to them, but being this close to nature was good.

I decided to book myself for a meal at the restaurant at the resort. I was hoping they had smoked salmon on the menu. In the end, the only thing with smoked salmon in was the linguini. As I eat, the sun is going down, it really felt like a special place. It was good Looking into the mirror; I see I have got sun burnt, mainly on my forehead and nose along with my left arm. It must be when I am driving.

I go to the shop and buy a cheap bottle of Californian Cabernet, and go and sit on the bench outside my lodge. Due to a mix up, I am now staying in an A frame lodge right on the lake’s shore. As I sit, drinking, the sun sets and darkness spreads across the valley. In front of me, salmon are jumping for flies, whilst a few hundred yards away tow men in a rowing boat drop lines into the water.