Betsy, Dave and Jen on Second Beach, Olympic NP
Craggy sea stacks, rows of huge driftwood logs and long lines of curling waves greeted us when we walked out on to Second Beach, part of the Olympic National Park in Washington state. In about 24 hours I’d leapt from snowy northern New York State to the far western edge of the continental United States. It was glorious.
For Easterners who need help with West Coast geography (I did), the city of Seattle is tucked into the middle of Puget Sound. To get to the farthest west coast of Washington State, a place where the next big pieces of land are the islands of Japan, my friend Dave drove us to a ferry dock. We looked west across Puget Sound to the craggy, snowy peaks in the middle of the Olympic National Park. Dave and Jen were amazed that we actually had a sunny day, very rare in this part of the world in February. It wasn’t quite clear enough to see the massive bulk of Mt. Rainier to the Southeast, but I was thrilled to get a view of the rainforest mountains, shining with a bright layer of new snow.
It’s a long drive across the Olympic Penninsula, past small resort towns and ragged logging communities. I feasted on all the green–the trees of course, but also rhododendron, salal and bright moss covering everything. Dave joked that if you took a break in the woods to have a nap you’d wake up covered in new green moss. In a few places the thick vegetation had been hacked away for pastures and once we passed a lilac farm.
At Lake Crescent we stopped for a picnic lunch on the porch of an old ranger station. I wouldn’t say it was warm but it was thrilling for me to have an outside picnic in February, to be able to leisurely chew through a sandwich and an apple without having my core body temperature plunge and my hands get frost nip.
About 4 hours after we left Seattle we reached the west coast. I practically leapt out of the car to start the mile walk to Second Beach. I hadn’t seen any salt water in a few years and felt myself drawn to the ocean like an outgoing tide. The Park Service keeps the trail well maintained with cedar steps down the last descent to the water. The ocean though, throws up a continously changing blockade of trees at the high tide line, a pile we climbed over to get to the water.
I stood on the pebbly beach to take in the gray water and rows of waves, plus a mild wind and a long view to the curve of the earth. To the north a rock wall had eroded leaving an arch where waves crashed through in a cloud of white. I’m trying, but it was really too magnificant for words.
Our destination was La Push, a Quileute community right on the coast. To earn money for the tribe, the Quilete people have a small resort with cabins and a motel.
