roadtrip | summer 2011 | fri aug 5 | to the peninsula

This was a big moment for us—we were heading for the Olympic Peninsula. We'd planned to visit this part of the country in 1996, as part of our 3-month cross-country trip. But when we pulled into Seattle, after a quick call home, we found out we were out of money. I mean, really out of money. So we had to head back, and promised to come this way again.

Then, in 2009, we planned to trek this way for a week in May. We printed brochures and set aside a week to make the trip. But suddenly I was out of a job, and we weren't going to be able to make it—and in a strange set of circumstances, we ended up moving to Seattle instead. Two years later, we finally had the time and funds and everything lined up: we were heading out to the peninsula to see the big trees, the wild coast and the long range of snow-capped mountains we can see from our kitchen window. It took us 15 years to make it back here. This was going to be big.

We left early to catch the ferry from Edmonds to Kingston, hoping to avoid the Friday rush and get a campsite in Olympic National Park. Of all the places we had on the itinerary, this was the most unsure—they don't take reservations at most of the park's campsites. It's a first-come-first-served rush to secure a spot during busy summer weekends. We crossed our fingers and headed straight for the Lake Crescent area at the northern edge of the park, just a half hour from Port Angeles.

Our first choice was the Fairholme campgrounds at the western edge of the lake. We drove slowly through the loops, looking for a spot—and found one of the very last ones, just as a whole line of cars pulled in behind us. Success! And just in time for lunch, a bike ride and a stroll down to the lake.

Fairholme campground, lunch time.

At a small cove, Matty and Adrian took a little swim in the cold glacial water. The lake water is crystal blue, almost completely without nitrogen so without any algae growth. It's clear, cold and clean. The bottom drops off quickly, and you can see through to fallen trees and sunken boulders in the depths.

A cold, quick dip in Lake Crescent.

We spent the late afternoon on a little beach by the general store, moving our chairs every now and then to soak up the last rays of the sun. That night we built a fire and grilled hamburgers, followed by an old-fashioned marshmallow roast.

As the sky grew darker and darker, we heard a strange bird call near our site. A yelping, screeching call. Adrian shone a light up into the tree branches above us, where we saw an owl sitting quite close. Really close. By it's fluffy, ruffled feathers and uneven coloring we could tell it was a juvenile, with white and grey spots on its belly and white in the back.

In the middle of the night we heard it again, this time two of them. Adrian and I shuffled around in our sleeping bags and quietly unzipped the tent window, slowly shining the light up into the tree. There they were, not more than 15 feet from our tent! It's rare to see these secretive birds at all, much less twice in a night, so close.

Artist's rendering of
owl, tent & family.

The next day we looked through a couple of guide books, and asked a ranger to confirm what kind they might have been. We're almost positive they were Northern Spotted Owls, the famous birds that have been the source of conflict between loggers and environmentalists for years. The birds' rapidly declining numbers have brought to light the differences between new and old growth forests in the pacific northwest—the owls are at the top of a food chain that depends on multi-layered forests with trees that are more than 60+ years old. (I think it goes something like this: fungus grows on tree, flying squirrel eats fungus, owl eats flying squirrel.) They've been on the news. They're protected by the Endangered Species Act.

I like to think they were saying hello. Welcome to the peninsula. We're glad you made it.


read about Sat, Aug 6th>