Continuation of our trip along the Washington coast in late December… We had a long drive to our next stop, Sequim. Along with way, we passed through Forks, a tired timber town of less than 3,200 people (without fangs). Named after the forks in the nearby Quillayute, Bogachiel, Calawah and Sol Duc rivers, its biggest employer is the Clallam Bay Corrections Center and tourism surrounding the quest to find Bella Swan, Edwin Cullen, and a host of other vampires and miscreants. There was a multitude of stores selling Twilight clothing and collectibles, along with tours of the town.

Having safely traveled through vampire territory, we headed to Neah Bay, the most northwest point of the continental United States and also the home of the Makah Indian Nation. The town of 900 people is known for its eco-tourism and exceptional halibut, ling cod, and sea bass fishing. Across from Neah Bay is Vancouver Island, Canada.

Rich was looking forward to walking around Cape Flattery trail, considered one of the most breathtaking views on the Pacific Coast. Because the trail is part of the Makah Indian Reservation we needed a visitor pass. With the day getting late, and knowing we could only stay at Neah Bay for an hour or so, we simply drove through the area. While Rich ran into a local supermarket to buy us something to drink, I climbed on top of the motor home and snap the photo to the right of a fishing boat leaving Neah Bay.

The drive to a campground in Sequim was longer than expected with our arriving moments before the sun disappeared for the day. We slipped into a secluded spot near the restrooms and were the only people in the park, besides the camp host.

It being our last night on the road, Rich decided to splurge and purchased two 50-cent tokens for the shower. Even at home, we usually shower together. But with no family showers at the campground, we decided to use the shower in the men’s room. We figured we’d be “safe” for the fifteen minutes it took to jointly shower. What we didn’t count on was the shower stopping after three minutes (one token) instead of six (two tokens).

I’d dawdled in rinsing off because I thought we had plenty of time. When the water abruptly stopped, I was covered in suds in areas, which can be challenging to rinse. Rich, dripping wet and naked, had to make numerous trips to the sink around the corner, dampen a wash cloth, and then sprint back to the showers so I could wipe off the soap.

Oh the fun of camping when you’re trying to cut corners!

The next morning brought sunshine, but no relief from the biting cold. Bundled up with hats, scarves, and gloves, we wandered towards the water, across a charming covered bridge, and then across a floating dock, where a seagull peacefully perching on a sign, taking in the sites or maybe wondering where he might swoop down and snag a tasty fish.

After an hour or so, we pulled up camp and headed to Port Townsend. As we approached, the sky darkened and snow started to lightly fall, adding to the accumulations of snow already on the streets. We enjoyed a quick lunch in the motor home before venturing out to the Northwest Maritime Center, a recently completed complex with a chandlery; boat-building facility; warehouse to store kayaks, skulls, and other small boats; coffee shop, meeting rooms, and much more.

Catty-corner to the maritime center is the Jefferson County Historical Society. Because it was very cold outside with intermittent snow, sleet, and rain, we decided to see the exhibits, which are housed in the Port Townsend City Hall building, and former municipal court room, fire hall, and jail. The latter was my favorite because it contained an exhibit called “Sin at Sea Level: Bars & bordellos, shanghaiing, smuggling, murder, mutiny, and other mayhem in early Port Townsend.” The ladies-of-the-night were very enterprising and their photographs showed many to have been very attractive.

In the courthouse were intriguing relics from Chinese and Japanese immigrants who set up shops and influenced the culture of the area. Most likely many didn’t have much money when they left their native lands so they probably couldn’t afford to bring only a few trucks of possession to America. What they chose to bring included inkwells, pens, mahjong tiles, ornate clothing, and ceramics.

A large toolbox of woodworking tools, including a variety of lathes for creating spindles was of interest to Rich. Many of Port Townsend’s historical homes are ornate with Victorian details.

Late in the afternoon, we drove the motor home onto a ferry and headed to the east side of the Puget Sound, Coupeville on Whidbey Island. The blustery day turned into a spectacular sundown as the ferry left the dock. Sipping coffees and nibbling on the last of our snack foods, we reflected on our trip along the Washington coast and how for the most part, we hadn’t been impacted by the weather.

Little did we know it would take an hour to drive ten miles along the snowy, congested street that runs from downtown Burlington to Mount Vernon. Rush hour traffic combined with a sudden snow storm made for very slow driving!

This summer, we’re looking forward to returning to the Olympic Forest for a few days of camping and hiking. If you take a ferry from Seattle to Bremerton, it’s an hour’s drive to the east side of the forest and another hour or so to the coast.

The cats are equally excited about going because they like the attention, sleeping in front of the heater vents on the floor of the motor home, and scratching in their litter box when we’re trying to sleep.

As I start to write this blog entry, questions about the weather are of great interest. Supposedly one to three inches of snow are going to fall on the Seattle area, in the next hour or two. (As I post this entry, I can report, we received several inches of snow, which turned to slush by the next morning and was history after an hour of warm rain).

There was no speculation about the weather several weeks ago when we were heading north along the Washington coast to the Olympic “rain” Forest. Rain, sleet, hail, and snowflakes were in the forecast. Happily, while overcast, we had very little rain as we drove to our next campsite at Kalaloch.

We passed through thick groves of trees with umbrellas of moss, blocking the sunlight and creating a fairytale land below filled with gnomes living in hollowed-out tree trunks, industrious squirrels in pea coats who barter in pine nuts, and a couple of mean-spirited trolls. At any moment, I expected a plucky gnome to dash onto the road from behind a thicket of trees.

The boundaries of the Olympic National Forest meander, crossing over Highway 101 for a dozen or miles and then abruptly ending until you reach another patch of the forest. You don’t need to read the signs along the sides of the road to know whether you’re entering or leaving the forest. Decades of clear-cutting and harsh lumbering has turned what was once rainforests into scraggly strand of evergreens or miles of stumps with gigantic piles of dried branches and riffraff left by loggers.

The timber companies leave their apologies for the destruction they wrought by erecting signs indicating when they last logged and the date of their next pillage. While I recognize lumber is necessary for building houses, buildings, furniture, and much more, it’s ravaging of the land is heartbreaking.

The seas probably looks no different. If we could drive through them, we’d probably be aghast at the drop in marine life and the sea floor littered with refuse from society.

Man is very destructive and more prone to excuses and justifications than finding solutions and alternatives.

Happily, “Socialism in America,” more specifically, Woodrow Wilson who signed the National Parks Service Organic Act, and Franklyn D. Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration (WPA), created a legacy, enabling common folks like Rich and I to enjoy the wonders in the Olympic National Park and Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary.

As we approached the campground, we stopped at Kalaloch Lodge, a sturdy shingle-covered lodge built in 1953, but reminiscent of the types of improvements made by the WPA. It offers a spectacular view of Kalaloch, a strip of coast between the Quinault and Hoh Rivers. The name Kalaloch is a corruption of the Quinault term k’-E-le-ok, pronounced Kq–â-lā’–ȯk, meaning “a good place to land,” “canoe launch and landing,” or “sheltered landing.”

Because it was pouring when we visited the lodge, we didn’t stay long. A hop-skip-and-a-jump away is the Kalaloch Campground, which must have been built decades ago because there are no hook-ups (water, electricity, etc.) and the campsite are very small, most are designed for pitching a tent and parking either a car or truck.

Only a few spots can accommodate a motor home or truck and trailer, which together are no more than 21-feet. Our motor home is 28-feet long, but because it was the middle of the winter, we were able to drive around until we found a larger campsite, which also had the perfect view… out over the ocean!

By the time it got dark, many of the campsites in the “loop” were occupied with larger “rigs” having to partially park on the street. I kept thinking how the campground had looked fifty years ago when camp meant pitching a tent, unfolded tables and chairs, setting up a grill, and using ice chests for keeping food cold… and away from bears.

We knew there were bears in the area because up by the bathrooms were large metal chest with signs telling you to put food in the chests or lock in campers or cars.

To get down to beach, we walked just a few feet and descended down a steep wooden staircase, protected by a wall of tall logs lashed together. Until you get onto the beach, you can’t understand why the wall of logs is necessary. The waves seem no stronger than on other parts of the coast. The sand is smooth and soft. But then it becomes clear.

The flotsam and jetsam that have washed up aren’t ordinary. There are giant red cedar logs, the bases taller than me and more than hundred feet in length. Tangles of enormous branches and trunks, which have washed down rivers and streams from the Olympic forest are scattered across the beach, often making it necessary to step over a trunk or climb among the branches to continue walking along the coast.

While many beaches have ocean-washed pebbles, Kalalach has smoothed stones, some as large as cantaloupes; although, they’re more like flattened cantaloupes. Rich and I were both enthralled by the rocks, picking through the piles to find the ultimate stones to help create mini rock towers.

Below are what the rocks looked like after I watched and piled them up by the sink in out Mount Vernon We need to figure out what type of glue to use to make them into permanent rock towers for our garden and gifts. 

Even though it was super cold outside and we’d see lots of rain the previous days, we were able to walk along the beach as the sun started setting the day we arrive. And the next morning was fabulous with intermittent blue skies and no rain! We spent several hours admiring the huge logs, picking up rocks, and walking around the park.

This summer, we’re looking forward to returning to the Olympic Forest. We’ll initially hike around the eastern side, and then head north to the coast, which is the drippiest area (one of the few rain forests in the United States). Supposedly, it’s so wet in the forest that even if it’s not raining, you get soaking wet.

Plop, plop, PLOP! Like bacon sizzling in a hot skillet. That’s what it sounds like inside our motorhome with the rain incisively falling. Occasionally, a cascade of water gushes off down a window after pooling on the top of rectangular can we’ve called home for the past few days.

We knew going into this adventure the weather wasn’t promising with showers in the forecast. Nevertheless, we told ourselves we’d do lots of reading, eating, snoozing, bonding, and cat-tormenting, interspersed with hiking, biking, and site-seeing. With heavy rains, hail storms, and non-stop showers, we’ve barely been outside in days.

After a crazy-hectic and long Thursday of cooking, cleaning, wrapping gifts, assembling bowls of cookies, packing the motor home, and finishing up last minute chores, we left at 5:30 a.m. on Friday morning. First stop, 7-Eleven for scalding hot coffee, flavored with mocha creamer. While Jujube was pesky, climbing onto the dashboard of the motorhome, Zephyra and Pu’Yi found a cozy spot in the bed over the cab. They slept for most of the trip, barely waking up when we stopped a few hours later at McDonald’s for more coffee, fruit/yoghurt parfait, and an Egg McMuffin.

We reached Chris’ house (Rich’s son) in Camas, Washington by 9-ish and then quickly unloaded the packages for my mother into Chris’ car. Rich and Stacey (Rich’s daughter) then drove me to my mother’s house in Sherwood, Oregon (southwest of Portland). I spent the next few hours cleaning her house and doing a handful of chores before zipping to Albertson’s for a roast chicken, potato salad, eggnog, and a small chocolate cake for our lunch… and for her to eat for the rest of the week.

My mother and I then drove – in the rain – to Chris’ house to meet Rich and others for a Christmas Eve dinner and gift-opening. Also at the house were Chris’ wife Shawnie, Shawnie’s mother Letie, brothers Brian and Joe, and her sister, Allison, and Allison’s boyfriend, Ricardo. Stacey had flown up from Mexico, her mother, June, had arrived from Hawaii, and her step-sister Chiami, and her husband, Brian, had come from Colorado.

It was a fun evening, especially for Pu’Yi, who put on his red harness and leash and spent a few hours visiting with everyone who thought he was an incredibly well behaved young man. I was so proud!

In addition, the mini cupcakes I’d made the day before were a hit; although, everyone seemed to prefer the dark chocolate cupcakes with peppermint icing over the mocha cupcakes with scrumptious dark chocolate icing. I dusted the later with cocoa powder and sprinkled crushed candy canes and red sugar over the peppermint icing. Yum.

I also brought a dish that I pioneered at Thanksgiving… roasted yams, sweet potatoes and beets with white sugar, cinnamon and allspice. The sugar and spices making a syrupy, but not overly sweet coating.

As the hour drew close to 10 p.m., I drove my mother back to Sherwood, and Rich followed in the motor home. We spent the night in the motor home in front of my mother’s house, listening to the rain falling and dreaming about the teriyaki chicken Chris made. The next morning, we took my mother to breakfast and then headed west along with the Columbia River to Cape Disappointment on the Washington coast.

It being Christmas day there was only a handful of trailers and RVs in the campground. We found a nice spot and were hopeful we’d be able walk around the area, which is rich in history and natural landmarks. The persistent heavy rain, however, dampened our plans. With hoped it’d be dried in the morning and spent the rest of the day reading and nibbling on the food we’d brought.

It poured throughout the night; the next morning, it was rainier than the day before. Disappointed that we’d miss out on hiking along the jetty, visiting two lighthouses, and touring the the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center, we packed up and headed north to Grayland.

Along with way, we passed through Illwaco, a small fishing town on the confluence of the Columbia River and Pacific Ocean, which has obviously suffered in recent years with numerous houses for sale, stores closed, and scarcely a person on the street. Illwaco, like many of the town we passed through, are fragile, its residents dependent on fishing, logging, and tourism. According to Wikipedia, 16.3% of the 1,000 or so people who live in Illwaco live below the poverty line.

A quick “news” search found an article written in late December about a $1.6 million earmarks by departing U.S. Representative Brian Baird for continued dredge operations to keep the ports of Illwaco and Chinook open. The article explains these ports are essential for maintaining the health of seaside ports in southwest Washington and northwest Oregon.

With the rain unrelenting as we drove to our next campground, I contemplated alternative activities. When Rich stopped for gas in Raymond, I slipped on my Converses, grabbed my raincoat and umbrella, and dashed down the street to warehouse with a wooden sign up front, advertising fresh crabs. Inside was a small office. When no one appeared after a few minutes, I ventured through an open door into the main part of the building, which was full of pallets, staked with large cans of crab meat.

Determined to buy a crab, I called out “Hello!” A man appeared, acknowledged my presence then scurried behind a door. Shortly afterwards, a local walked into the warehouse in search of the fifteen crabs he’d ordered early that morning. He was able to get in his words, “someone who spoke English” to retrieve the crabs and collect our money. I ended up paying $10 for a 2.5 pound crab I named “Fred.” For the duration of our trip, Fred stayed in our motor home’s freezer in a bag with shaved ice. We ate him on New Year’s Eve with wasabi cocktail sauce (mediocre cocktail sauce Rich had bought on sale combined with powdered wasabi and lemon juice).

Check out the picture of Fred grabbing for a glass, intended for our celebratory Blackthorn hard cider. Rich and I served this British cider at our wedding.

The town of Raymond, population around 3,000, is known for logging, fishing, and cranberries. The grunge band Nirvana played their first gig in this town. Around the turn of the century, Raymond has a reputation as a wild and wooly lumber mill town with 6,000 residents. Today, 25% of its population lives below the poverty line.

On the outskirts of the town is Ocean Spray’s Sweetened Dried Cranberry (SDC) and Cranberry Sauce plant. I’m guessing the water from the Wishkah and Chehalis Rivers are used to flood local bogs so the cranberries can be harvested. The plant has been a major employer since 1946 and runs two production lines 24 hours a day, seven days a week with annual output of 20 million pounds of SDCs and 1.2 million cases of cranberry sauce. Hats off to the Ocean Spray Cooperative for being an exceptional employer!

As we passed through Aberdeen, we passed a sign for Sasquatch Pizza & Wings. My out-of-office at Microsoft said we were searching for Big Foot (i.e. Sasquatch) in the Olympic Forest, so it was exciting to discover he’s given up on foraging in the forests for food and has opened a restaurant. It just shows civilization can tame even the most feral creatures.

Our destination for the day was Grayland Beach State Park on Gray’s Harbor. We approached with high expectations bolstered by the clearing weather. While the campground was mostly empty, many of the prime camping sites had several inches of sitting water. Nevertheless, we found a great spot, a stone’s throw from the beach. After plugging in our utilities and pumping up our bike tires, we biked to the ranger station to pay the registration fee. When we arrived, however, we saw our site was reserved.

Taking note of the open sites, we madly biked back to the motor home. Closer to the bathrooms and more protected by the trees was another nice spot. While Rich “held” the spot, I speedily pedaled back to the ranger station and successfully registered.

With each trip, the blue sky seemed to be getting darker and the air colder. On my last trip, I was convinced my nose was going to fall off because of the frosty air. I was dressed in a long-sleeve t-shirt, fleece jacket, rainproof parka (in stunning yellow), double-layer fleece and water-proof hat, gloves, jeans, and leather hiking boots… and was still cold!

Five minutes after we moved into our new camping site, a torrid of hail started falling, followed by torrential rain, and then more hail. As the sun started to set, we felt confident enough to wander out of the motor home for a quick, but freezing walk on the beach.

The next morning, the sky was clear and Rich rushed me out the door for a lengthy walk along the water. We passed by the ranger station on the way back to our campsite; we stopped for a bit to chat with the ranger and learn more about the area… in particular whether the black bears in the area attack human. The answer is “yes” and “no.” Typically, if you make a lot of noise bears will run away. However, if you happen to bump into a mama bear and her cubs, she’ll be very protective. Best advice. Use a walking stick with a bell attached.

After gathering some brochure, I commented to the ranger about the promising weather. He rebuked me saying it can change at any time. Sure enough, a moment after we started back, we felt the first drop, which quickly become a shower and then a full-force rainstorm!

To the right is a picture of Gracie Lint who’s too much of a fruit loop to travel in the motor home. She’s afraid of everything except the other cats and squirrels, which she enjoys watching from our French doors. Not part of the three MusCATeers (Pu’Yi, Zephyra, and Jujube), she wanted her picture included in this write-up.