I consider myself a fairly easy person, opinionated, yes, and perhaps prone to the odd fit of hangriness but generally willing to go with the flow and enjoying myself regardless. When visiting friends, I am just as much at peace joining them for a trip to Costco or Home Depot as I am going on an adventure. I will, however, admit that when it comes to some of the staples of the American diet, and particularly the American breakfast diet, I can be a touch precious. My aversion to cheese has become the stuff of legends and it seems that any savory breakfast offering in this country has cheese in it. I find coffee to be unappetizing and prefer the subtler and more elegant flavors of tea that my refined palate demands. And as a wise sage (not me) once remarked, bread is just a vehicle, and unfortunately our nation has a predilection to pile anything and everything that is cheesy into this vehicle and call it breakfast.
Suffice it to say, I started an ultimately epic day with a despondently unepic breakfast, grumbling to myself at a drive-through coffee shop (Forks is not exactly a culinary center) and eventually ending up with a weak tea and a toasted everything bagel that was only diffidently toasted and certainly did not have much of anything, let alone everything, on it. My grumpiness only increased as I realized how many other people were heading towards my destination, my most anticipated stop in the Olympic National Forest, the Hoh Rainforest.
O ye of little faith, do not doubt the fates that look kindly upon you for they surely did on me. Yes, the parking lot was more crowded than I had hoped at the early hour but nothing could diminish the magic of this place. There were but two short hikes, better described as walks rather than hikes, but they unveiled a unique landscape, a journey to what seemed like prehistoric times.
As most people inexplicably hemmed and hawed, and doodled and dawdled and so forth about their cars in the lot, I made my way to the first of the loops, the aptly named Hall of Mosses. Surprisingly few people were on the trail – thank you, fates – and all gazed about them in reverence while speaking in hushed tones. The solemnity of the environment was broken a few times by the car alarm of some ignoramus or another just to remind us that “civilization” was only a few meters away but this thankfully was over quickly.
The days in the Pacific Northwest have been green – everywhere there is green, green, green. It is not the green of Ireland, which is bright and lush but generally manicured as trees are not in abundance on the Emerald Isle. In the PNW, and especially in the Hoh Rainforest, the green is also lush, but it is also majestic and huge. It can be bright, yes, but it spans all shades, and it is ancient. The bark is green as it is covered with mosses and lichen. The ground is green and there is no soil visible except for the man-made trail: ferns have taken them over. New spruces spring from the moss-covered logs of old spruces felled long ago by natural means. It is a remarkable place.
The second trail gave me a quick sighting of a Roosevelt elk, who I could swear rolled its eyes at us humans, insistent on getting a picture as it ruminated on its breakfast. It also for a moment descended to the shores of the Hoh River, where you could see the big firs in the distance on its other bank, firs that simply cannot grow in the Hoh rainforest because there is simply not enough space. Thankfully both trails were relatively light with people and those there were respectfully quiet, except for a couple of teenagers yammering and giggling while in the throes of experiencing puppy love. Ah to be young again – though perhaps not that young.
After the Hoh rainforest I made my way to the coast one more time to see Ruby Beach in the middle of high tide. No tidal pools this time but the beach itself was a perfect example of the rugged coasts of the Pacific Northwest and I spent some time there amongst the driftwood, marveling how wind and water could combine to sculpt the strange rock formations. A quick stop at a provisions store for tea (better this time) and deli meat to make an impromptu sandwich was next, followed by a four hour drive inland to Mount Rainier National Park.
I am always taken by how Google Maps will route you through some random rural roads to save a few minutes.I don’t mind it at all. As I drive through these remote communities, wondering what they do, what they believe, who are they, and how did they end up there. As you can see, it’s a common theme when I travel to consider the people around me. It’s one thing to meet people on your travels, a brief conversation or a chance encounter. It’s another to drive through their communities in the proverbial middle of nowhere as you are now in their literal backyard.
The drive of course was exhausting as about an hour of it took place on a busy interstate and the final hour was a twisting, turning ascent up the slopes of Mount Rainier, which would have been more fun had I not been driving for hours before. I’m actually looking forward to the return trip down the mountain as I do greatly enjoy those vertiginous roads, with their winding and their switchbacks, these wonders of engineering. I enjoy them even more when I’m on the mountain side with the risk of falling off the side greatly reduced.
And so: Mount Rainier, a place of colossal beauty. On a day that I walked through an ancient forest, and strolled across a beach, I also encountered snow in my final hike of the day as Mount Rainier does not really hit spring in full stride until July. A short jaunt through an alpine meadow with a few patches of slushy snow that refused to melt even on a warm, sunny day was the perfect ending to an epic day.
