Miles and miles of wildflowers line the roadsides all along the Olympic peninsula. Blankets of dandelions, California poppies and bright-eyed daisies burst forth amidst the wild roses, purple and white foxglove, mustard-colored Scotch broom and ripening grasses.
Everything is beautiful.
Honey’s cousins hosted us with warmth and thoughtfulness during the several days we stayed at their house. Their large, beautiful guest room and private bath were well over twice the size of our little camper and we joyfully stretched out to occupy this new space. We’ve gotten used to the constraints of our tiny home on wheels, but I would be lying if I said we didn’t also relish spending time in larger spaces. Our hosts gave us a royal tour of some of their favorite places on this side of the Puget Sound and every evening filled with the joys of shared meals and lively conversation. We are very lucky that when in need of good food, warm hearts and a bit of hospitality, our respective families open their homes to us with enthusiasm and generosity.
It had been a long time since we’ve felt so comfortable in a place and our time in Olalla flew by terribly fast. I have a particular fondness for old fishing towns and Port Orchard and Poulsbo charmed us with their well-preserved buildings, lovely waterfronts and cute shops. One restaurant even had gluten free fried oysters! Yum. Yum. YUM! With access to tools and the skills of a longtime metal and woodworker extraordinaire, we were able to do some repairs on Chérie! (it seems like every time we stop somewhere long enough, something always needs to be fixed, cleaned or replaced!—a common refrain among RVers), and our many discussions with Honey’s cousins yielded helpful advice and feedback on some of our ideas for potential business ventures. It’s wonderful to think that if we do move to the PNW we’ll have such a lovely family connection relatively near by.
From Olalla we drove northwest, skirting the perimeter of the Olympic Peninsula to the Heart o’ the Woods campground near Port Angeles. We’d been to this town once before on our first trip to Seattle to visit friends who were living in Victoria, BC at the time. On the return ferry we learned that it was the day of the Dungeness Crab festival in Port Angeles, so we bought tickets, figuring that it would be a tasty lunch and a good way to pass the afternoon. That might have been the best decision we’ve ever made! The crabs were large, tender and with an incredibly delicate flavor, and the festival was a cheerful affair with lively music, a fun crowd and good beer. We both agreed that we preferred Dungeness to lobster and the memory of that experience informed much of our longing for seafood on this trip.
There is a local crab and shellfish shop near Port Angeles with a reputation for decent prices, so one day we stopped to pick up some crabs. Not wanting to mess with cooking them myself, we got them cooked along with a portion of garlic butter for dipping. Dungeness crabs are so big and so full of meat that you don’t need much else to make a meal, but I steamed a few ears of sweet corn all the same. What a fabulous and simple feast! The legs are soft enough to crack bare-handed and the body peels apart like a head of roasted garlic, with a slighly firmer texture. Honey cracked the claws and claw arms (I’m sure there’s a more specific term for this appendage) with the back of our big knife and we slurped and moaned our way through the crabs like two very content pigs. We were thankful to have an abundance of dish soap and running water to cleanse ourselves at the end so we didn’t drag the crabby smell with us into the camper. That is one mess I would not want to deal with!
Our base in Port Angeles allowed us to explore the northern coast and part of the Olypics. On an exceptionally clear day we hiked a couple of trails on Hurricane Ridge, gasping at the views of the snow-capped Olympic range on one side and the snow-covered chain of northern Cascades on the other. We’d gotten a few glimpses of Mt. Rainier from Olalla, and that day we were also able to see Mt. Baker from our perch on the ridge. Another day we drove to Neah Bay, Cape Flattery, and Hobuck beach to officially mark our approximately 12,000 mile journey across the entire Continental US from the East Coast to the West.
We next spent a few days camping near Forks where the terribly written and awfully lame Twilight books were set. I admit to reading them when they came out (and despising myself thoroughly while doing so). One of my roommates at the time was obsessed and the infection was hard to resist, but I only made it through one of the movies. My self-punishment definitely has its limits and that miserable experience served me well in completely avoiding the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomon that followed shortly thereafter.
In any case, Forks is just as unremarkable as the books make it out to be and we had appropriately wretched weather—wet, cold and very gray. We’d been really lucky up to that point with gorgeous sunny days and nice temperatures, so this was a bit of a cold shower, so to speak. Fortunately, we were in a gorgeous secluded campground in a rainforest, surrounded by moss-covered trees, giant ferns and 8 foot tall salmonberry bushes. During a break in the weather we drove out to the Hoh forest where my phone had just enough service to pick up a call from my longtime friend, Jo. In our college Spanish class, she went by the spanish pronunciation of her name where the j is pronounced h, make it it Hoh. Being in “her” forest on this call felt very serendipitous and I had to send her a few photos to commemorate the moment.
We did try to make the best of the bad weather and still got out to do things, albeit wearing what miscallaneous rain gear we had on hand. The first day, this didn’t amount to much and we were quickly driven back into the cozy nest of our Casita. The second day wasn’t quite so wet, so we layered up and went back to Rialto beach to hike along the shore and climb around the giant fallen logs that line the beach from one end to the other.
We left Goya snuggled in her blanket in the car, grabbed our packed lunch and trudged towards the sound of waves crashing on shore. Other groups of hikers wandered ahead or stopped to pic-nic with their children. A few pairs on their way back from Hole-in-the-Wall at the very north end of the beach proudly warned us that high tide was coming soon and to be careful not to get caught. I’d taken a photo of the tide chart in the parking lot and kept track of the high tide marking in the sand as we walked along. There seemed to be ample space and time for us to enjoy our outing without worrying so we dismissed their warnings as overly cautious.
Mid-way down the beach we spotted a bald eagle fishing and decided to break there for lunch. We parked ourselves on a big log a few feet from the tree where it sat eyeing the water, and had the immense satisfaction of watching the bird pluck at least three fish from the waves with its outstretched talons. The eagle’s fishing technique was oddly delicate for such a fierce predator and we bore witness to the exactitude of the expression “eagle eye”.
How the bird could even see the fish to begin with given that everything was gray is a complete mystery. On top of that, the eagle timed its flight to the very second the fish were close enough to the surface to be grabbed from the top, without ever dipping its body into the water. Aside from elite athletes, how often to we get to witness the perfection of skill for performance or survival? It’s a rare thing in the modern world, but a matter of life or death in the wild. We sat in awe, mildly embarrassed to be eating sandwiches assembled from store bought ingredients, none of which required any effort on our part to procure.
The hunger to put down roots and let the dust settle has started to grow within us, but our trip is not yet over and we’re having to find new ways to pace ourselves. The weather here has affected us both heavily: we wilt like neglected houseplants in the gray and spring back to life as soon as the sun comes out. There’s also a lot of variability between the coast and the mountains, a million different microclimates with more or less light/wind/moisture. The necessity for carrying with us a variety of clothes has turned the backseat of our car into a disaster of optional layers. Nowhere was this more important than during our last four days in Washington near the surf and fishing town of Westport.
Our hosts were a young-hearted and adventurous couple who themselves travel in a van during the really miserable months of the year. I’ve often had the experience while traveling abroad of meeting people and feeling an instantaneous deep connection, a feeling of knowing without explanation. Honey and I have not felt that on this trip and that lack of connection is somthing I’ve discussed in various prior posts. Within a day of meeting these Boondocker hosts, we felt that rare and elusive sense of belonging, their kidness and openness putting us immediately at ease.
We spent many hours during our time with them discussing a variety of subjects: the elegant pole construction of their house which reminded me of the second version of my father’s restaurant, built after a dinghy left in the bay took out the roof during a hurricane. We listened to stories about their lives, and about the many people they’ve had the honor to host and connect with over the years. We shared some of our own stories, of our travels and life before this trip, of our hopes for the life we will build after. They fed us and taught us some of their giant bubble making tricks, which we’re excited to take on the road with us and replicate with my nephews when we see them again.
On the 4th of July we bundled up, packed our camp chairs and sundry bubble making paraphernalia, and set up in the marina parking lot to await the fireworks. I can’t say what it is about bubbles that brings the inner child out to play, or exactly what it is I find so entertaining about this activity, but give me the tools and a bucket full of soapy water and I quickly lose myself in the magic. Within minutes children from all over the lot flocked towards us, bursting with excitement. Their years of experience with bubbling has honed our hosts’ skills to a fine art and some of the bubbles grew to astounding proportions, lifting high into the air and careening over the parked cars and outstretched arms of the children below. As the wind picked up, the bubbles got smaller and the children edged closer, popping the bubbles before they could even take off. This started putting our teeth on edge and after a few requests for a reasonable space, we packed up our gear and settled down to await the fireworks.
We’d extended our stay by a night as much to avoid trying to find a spot to camp as for the pleasure of spending one last night with our hosts, but in the morning it was finally time to say goodbye. We packed everything up, tied down all of the things that tend to fly around when we drive, and started winding up the jack to hitch Chérie! to the car. All of a sudden a loud WHVVVOOM came from the jack and the front end of the camper came crashing down onto the stabilizer block. Oh shit. We knew the jack was on its last legs, but had hoped it would hang on until we returned to Honey’s cousins’ house in a couple of weeks. Once again, in our “bad luck” we were incredibly lucky to be in good company and with strangers-turned-friends-turned-family who had both the tools and knowledge to help us get back on the road. I joked with out hosts that they really must not want us to leave!
Fixing problems together has a way of bonding people even more than just spending time and having fun can do. By the end of a morning spent removing, shopping for and reinstalling a shiny new jack on the camper, Honey and our host had their own special connection. We bid goodbye with the mingled joy and sadness of having encountered two very special people, and the hopeful promise of crossing paths again. We know we have a home here, should we ever make it back this way again, and we hope to offer them the same hospitality whenever our circumstances will permit. Hopefully sooner rather than later!