Notes from the road
o7”Whatever is whatever.” f7--Liliwaup
Gazing out across the southwest end of Sequim Bay, I think to
myself how true this obscure quote is. Our plans -- albeit loose ones
-- never included this six-day stopover. This is our so-called “road
trip.”
Still, whatever is whatever, and here we are.
There is so much to see and do here, and it is so easy to just be
-- watching and listening.
We could stay here another six days, a month, even more and only
scratch the surface of possibilities.
I could regale you with the myriad wonders of this place, and it
is difficult to know where to begin. What might you find most
titillating? For this is a place to share.
Sequim Bay is located in the northeast portion of the Olympic
Peninsula of Washington state.
It lies in what is referred to as the “rain shadow” or “banana
belt” region. Dryer than much of the state, it is a good base of
operations for us sun-loving Californians.
One adventurous day found us driving along the craggy coast to the
“end of the road” -- the most northwestern point in the continental
United States -- to Neah Bay on the Makah Indian Reservation.
Our friend Cate told us that the Makah Indians are allowed to hunt
whale here so long as they use only traditional methods.
As we arrived at the end of the day, not much was going on, and we
encountered a sleepy little whaling village.
We could not get enough of the beauties of this northern
coastline.
We drank it all in -- oohing and aahing -- again on our return
trip along the stretch of Highway 112 that runs between the coastline
and the Clallam Bay and Lyre River state forests.
The next day was gray and cloud-filled as we headed for Hurricane
Ridge for hiking. A stop at the visitor center gave us an update. We
would be able to see little of the stunning vistas from the ridge on
this day, so we opted for a shorter hike in the lower forest.
Our “short” hike stretched close to three hours as we wandered
through the plethora of green plant life in this stunning and magical
forest of old-growth trees.
Standing on a narrow bridge over a soft-running rivulet, listening
to the water fall across stones, I marveled at the gift of this
splendor and thought of my own small place in this world of wonders.
The next day, my morning’s great delight was the sight of hundreds
of Canada geese swimming in parade formation around the southeast
edge of Sequim Bay. Golden light rippled on the waters as they swam
in single file. Calls of “hronk-hronk” gathered the geese together at
the mouth of the slough that drains into the bay. Then, once a
sufficient number were there, they swam away single file out of sight
around a bend in the bay. I was mesmerized by the sight. Still, there
was so much more to do.
The day’s goal was hiking Dungeness Spit -- a 12-mile round trip.
As seemed to be our wont on this trip, we got a late start and so
set a turnaround time of 3:30. Much to our surprise, at 3:20 we had
arrived at the lighthouse. Gathered there on the grassy lawn were
intrepid hikers of all ages, in large groups and small.
While eating our packed lunch, we spoke with Patricia, who was one
of the lighthouse keepers for the week. She filled us in on the
experience of being a keeper. Six people are driven out the spit at
low tide in a van with all their supplies for one week. Once there,
they do tasks and chores around the lighthouse and lead tours as
needed. At the end of the week -- again at the lowest tide -- they
return and are replaced by a new group of keepers.
As we headed back into the cold wind, I dreamed dreams. What a
wondrous experience this would be, I thought to myself. What an
adventure it could be out there on the wind-swept point with Brant’s
Black geese, black turnstones, gulls, plovers and more.
Now, on our last day here before our rapid run to Klamath Falls,
Ore., the plan is to again get the kayaks in the waters of Sequim
Bay. But who knows, for, as Liliwaup says, “Whatever is whatever.”
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