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.”