Although Mecca at the end of our road had been Alaska, I had begun looking forward to seeing the Washington and Oregon coasts as well. The trip’s farthest point had gone the way of the intercoastal ferry, but the aesthetic highlights were rocking and waving around Washington. The coast with its frothy waves pounding on sand and smooth-worn stones, and its rock block pillars shooting out from the up and down water, was a favorite.
There were many mountains and valleys in the world, but few places like the Washington coast. I enjoyed a place I could watch and experience, instead of simply view. The sound, roll, and flop of waves – from way out and moving into the beach – gave it dynamism. The power could be seen in the blowing sea mists and the huge tree trunks pushed back from the beach to the resisting steepness of the land. The mists were cool and constant, while not fishy or sticky. The driftwood trees were battered, chunked, de-barked, and de-limbed, forming a landlocked logjam above the high tide line. Jumping from one to another, some would roll, some were partially buried, and most were too large to even notice my presence. Air-sack bulbs of green and yellow bull kelp laid on the beach, with shapes ranging from pliable hay to leather whips. Outcast rock towers were dark and wet at their lower edges, with higher patches of grass and a tree on ledges at their mounded tops.
The Pacific edge was serene in its power, controllable at a distance by mere avoidance. I could have spent many hours there thinking, or watching, or writing. A house above would have helped my frame of mind, and an extended trip of hiking and camping nearby could always have been an outlet.
Dad and I had originally planned on going to Mt Rainier and Glacier National Park. I did not want to heap on any more mountain vistas or “just passing through” stops, so we changed those plans. He asked what I wanted to do with our remaining time here, so I told him: travel further along the coast into Oregon.
Waves, waterfall, and sea stacks of the Washington coast
Miles of unpopulated primordial beaches
After having a stand-up meal of packaged goods in a small grocery store, we headed back out into the drenching rain. We had driven practically nonstop to La Push, on the Quileute Indian Reservation, for our deluxe industrial meal. The rain began quickly, and reinforced my preconceptions of this being a rainy area. After about a quarter of our day’s share of rain, I finally pulled out the dead weight rain suit and actually put it around my body. I was already damp, but found that the darn thing actually performed a function. Dad did not use his, so he became soaked to the skin. It was strange how we seemed allergic to them, even though they worked so well.
We backtracked and pulled into the Third Beach parking area, with a clearing sky and drying clothes. The hike turned out to be only wet from leaf drips and a mushy rain forest floor, but not from any direct rain drops. I had expected a clammy, wet-here-and-there hike, but it was instead dry and comfortable.
A trail led us through the lush undergrowth and towering trunks of a thriving forest sprawling over rich, damp soil. It emerged onto washed-up trees and further to the rumbling beach. An amazing sight.
Perched atop a rock sea stack on the Washington coast
After having walked down the beach and climbed a steep-sided rock for a photo modeling session, Dad noticed a moving lump. We walked up to a baby seal, staring at us through sand-covered black eyes and voicing out a sound literally like “Ma, Ma”. I had seen a sign saying that sometimes seal pups are left behind while their mothers feed on fish, and the mothers return later. Good, because this cute little critter deserved to be taken care of. I kneeled down about six feet away, and it wiggled across the sand directly at me. It sniffed at me some, stared up, and continued repeating “Ma”. It did not know how to respond to me, but prodded toward me with its snout, possibly for food. Sorry, the camera I was clicking in its face was not very nourishing.
We left the seal and continued on a hike up ladder-like steps and into a “tropical” path lined by vertical rock, decomposing trees, and moist life in all directions. After turning around at an arbitrary point and returning to a log that the baby seal was shade-sleeping under, we wondered why the mother had not returned yet.
Seal pup on Washington coast
We stopped at the first grocery store we later found, all in an effort to relieve our parched bodies. I flipped over a seal postcard and for some bizarre reason literally the only thing the postcard said was that “many seals are abandoned by their mothers”. That was not what the sign said or what I learned more about later, but at that point my level of concern rose sharply. So I told Dad to pull into the next ranger station so we could report the “abandoned” baby seal. They would presumably know what to do or, most likely, what not to do. Dad instead immediately called the station nearest the beach. The nice ranger told him of several other reports, but also that mothers can be gone for a long time. The pups should almost always just be left alone. She was sincerely thankful for our concern, and the matter was at least now off our minds and on the mind of the Park Service. Hopefully its mother came back.
I rode in the lead position down 101 south. We stopped briefly at something the sign said was “Big Cedar Tree”. I wanted to see what a Big Cedar Tree was like. I found out. It was a big cedar tree. Interesting, but not impressive enough after having been through massive forests elsewhere. Impressive by itself though.
We rolled on through well paved, twisting road. The sides were lined high by sloping-away trees and huge stalked conifers with branches that didn’t even start until a hundred feet up the trunk. These forests were eerie. Looking into them revealed one of the darkest daytime blacks I had ever seen. The dense and packed forest blocked out light to the ground, making a haven for nothing by imaginary monsters slithering around tree trunks. I found myself trying to make my eyes adapt, but they would not. It was a black black.
Our second jump onto the coastline was at Ruby Beach. Another beautiful area, different with its larger rocks and seaward-flowing stream. The college girls there provided an actually unwanted but unavoidable distraction. This area was easily accessible when compared to Third Beach, and that was obvious by the presence of at least twenty people. An extension of the overlook mentality: ease of doing.
Climbing over rocks and then onto our bikes, we headed south for an enjoyable evening ride to Aberdeen. The Flamingo Motel waited for us with a room. A too-big meal in town stuffed my stomach. Tomorrow: more coast!