Cape Neddick (Nubble) Lighthouse, Cliff House

One more WWI Poster:  I received more than the usual reactions to the Museum's WWI posters that so affected me.  Many thanks to Jack who sent this photo of a poster he has in his home.

WWI poster   Artist - Howard Chandler Christy

We exit the Ogunquit Museum of American Art (OMAA) to admire the waterfront just as a sailboat highlights the beauty of the ocean and sky.

Leaving the Museum behind, we stop at Cape Neddick Lighthouse, one of the most popular lighthouses in New England.  The craggy coast has been a vital but dangerous part of sea traffic since colonial days.  In 1874, the federal government commissioned a light house for this rocky ‘nub’ of land.  The Coast Guard took over the light house in 1939.  As demands grew and technology expanded,  the lighthouse function was automated (in 1987).

The Nubble Lighthouse remains functional and beautiful.  The Town of York is the guardian of record for the Nubble Lighthouse (aka Cape Neddick Light Station).  The Coast Guard maintains the light and horn--primary aids to navigation--and the National Register of Historic Places preserves its history.  

Time for lunch, but not just lunch--lunch at the famous Cliff House.
 
This beautiful hotel has passed down through four generations of the Weare family, beginning in 1872 and continuing through 2014. 
After the Civil War, when the country began to coordinate and standardize the railway system, the Weare family saw the expanding  system (with a Boston and Maine track extending to York) as an opportunity to share Maine shore’s beauty with the world.  

The Cliff House opened in 1872, and its reputation for elegance rapidly spread from New England to New York and then abroad. Indoor plumbing and electric lights were the contributions of the second Weare generation.  

Bald Head Cliff and Original Cliff House, circa 1900 (Library of Congress Photo)

Cliff House maintained its lofty reputation right up to World War II.  With national security in mind, the hotel shifted from accommodations for wealthy patrons to a radar station for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, monitoring the coast for enemy vessels.

After the war, the next Weare generation family member tackled the formidable task of rehabilitating a wracked property with the same determination he’d had when facing enemies of war.  Over time, the Weares brought the Cliff House back to tourists.  In keeping with the times (the 1960s), the hotel became a motel, catering to the many motoring tourists.  An added swimming pool made the Cliff House an ideal stop.

In 1974, the fourth Weare generation began expanding and enhancing the motel, returning the cachet of its early days.  By 2002, the Cliff House boasted a grand staircase linked to the Ocean Terrace, a luxurious dining room, conference and meeting rooms, a fitness center, and high-end guest rooms with balconies overlooking  Maine’s south coast.
 

Cliff House photo from https://www.destinationhotels.com/cliff-house/resort

We dine in a restaurant overlooking the water.  Service, food, and view were all flawless,  but my photos don't do the hotel or the view justice.  

The photo above is from the hotel web site, and I urge you to visit the site https://www.destinationhotels.com/cliff-house/resort  to learn more about this beautiful hotel, its history, and the luxuries it has to offer.
 
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Ogunquit Museum of American Art- World War I Posters, the Value of Thought

Looking back 100 years from our smartphones and laptops, from the vast array of social media, it’s hard to understand how much impact posters once had.  But in  1917, before widespread use of radio,  posters were a vital element of persuasion, information, and incentive.  For us, a century later, they offer some insight into the global conflict of World War I.

artist Henry Raleigh

Our visit to the Ogunquit Museum of American Art coincides with the 100 year anniversary of the US participation in the First World War.  The  theme of the current special exhibit is Tradition and Excellence: Art and Ogunquit 1914-1918.  I am especially drawn to these WWI posters.  Even as I photograph them, I am struggling with powerful feelings they elicit.

Artist Howard Chandler Christy

Does my response to these have to do with world tensions of today?  The photos, taken without flash,  are just reproductions for this blog.  Even as I am writing this, the images rouse feelings of patriotism and... a little anxiety.

Poster by Herbert Paus

Artist Ray Greenleaf

Only after I get home  and do some additional research do I see that these posters are meant to connect the visitor  with “... anxieties, resistance, helplessness and hopefulness of the time.” (from the museum web site: http://tinyurl.com/OMAA-WWI-postershttp://tinyurl.com/OMAA-WWI-posters).  As far as I am concerned, the posters successfully accomplish their task.

Speaking of research... the other exhibit we enjoy is the ‘Value of Thought’, a gallery of paintings depicting libraries.  As I start exploring the paintings, I remember the feeling I had in the library I used to visit as a youngster.  I recall sitting on the floor in the children’s room, poring through books planning what to borrow.  I remember when research demanded a visit to a library, maybe a request from the archives; time at a table taking notes, double-checking references....

Artist Alison Rector visited eighteen Carnegie libraries in Maine, and her works recreate those feelings for me. Because the exhibit has ended, the next best place (on a computer) to view some of Rector’s library paintings and other works is http://greenhutgalleries.me/gallery/alison-rector/ .

Like the WWI posters, this exhibit has evoked some powerful feelings for me--in this case, nostalgic, and also a little sentimental about the time when learning/investigating/researching might take me to a beautiful, book-lined room.

Ogunquit, Maine: Ogunquit Museum of American Art

Tales from the Trail has been on break at home while regrouping and exploring some new activities.  “Home” can be as interesting as travel.  Recently the Tourist at Home took a day trip to Ogunquit at the invitation of friends. This is a happy reminder of the great places to visit that are right outside my door (so to speak).

Our main focus is the Ogunquit Museum of American Art (OMAA).  I haven’t been to Ogunquit in a while, and this is my first visit to the Museum that overlooks Narrow Cove, the beautiful rocky Maine coast, and the vast Atlantic Ocean.

Henry Strater, a ‘Lost Generation’* artist, opened the museum in 1953.  While the museum is only little over sixty years old, its permanent collection of art works--from sculpture to photography--goes back to the late nineteenth century.   

The Museum's sculpture garden greets us.

This Vermont marble statue, Life Entwined,  is the 1988 work of Antoinette Schultze.

  Just beyond this couple stands  the Man of Assisi, a mixed metal sculpture/ fountain  by John Dirks, who in 1988 was also the director of the museum.  (I’m afraid the flowing water isn’t obvious in my photo.)

Man of Assisi by John Dirks

A little closer to the building, Bernard Langlais’ Lion protects the museum and his territory.    

Unfortunately, I didn't get the name of artist of this work in front of the museum,  or of the sculpture in the photo below  it.

After a visiting some of the exhibits,  we take a break on a bench to once again enjoy the garden and look at Life Entwined from yet another angle,  I can't resist taking a picture of a butterfly who seems to be enjoying the same type of moment.

Life Entwined with butterfly

Founder Henry Strater and the Lost Generation*
“The Lost Generation” comprised those who reached adulthood during World War I.  More often, the term refers to American writers and artists who were involved in the war in some way--in the service, as reporters.  After the war, Paris somehow maintained its reputation as a center of art, culture, and music (in spite of all the city had just endured). This attracted Americans like Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, E. E. Cummings, Ezra Pound and others, who had lost some faith in the ‘American Dream’ and felt disconnected from post-war USA. 


Henry Strater was often exasperated by the fame he acquired as a friend of famous writers instead an artist in his own right. When the OMAA opened, Strater specified that he intended the museum to highlight the work of the visual artists of his time. 

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 * Gertrude Stein first used the term 'Lost Generation' to Ernest Hemingway to describe the Americans who had gone to Paris after World War I.  Hemingway then used in in  The Sun Also Rises. 

For handicapped visitors: there are walkways surrounding the museum making it possible to enjoy the sculpture garden and water views.  I did not notice wheelchair ramps, but generally I never encountered more than 3 steps between rooms/galleries, so a visitor with a walker could probably find help moving the walker, and anyone who can use crutches can negotiate the entire museum. 

Hurricane Ridge, Port Townsend, and Another Trip Comes to an End

Next-- Hurricane Ridge.  I’m surrounded by the immense and breathtaking wonder of the Olympic Mountains. 

    Carrie Glacier on Mount Carrie as seen from Hurricane Ridge

Millions of years in the making, the natural beauty of this planet always puts life into perspective and fills me with awe and inspiration.

These mountains are  between 11 and 35 million years old--what's a few million years in the grand scheme?  They formed when the sea floor of the Pacific  plate was forced under the North American plate. Sea sediment scraped off the the Pacific plate and adhered to the continental plate as it rose, forming the mountains .  Between about 10,000 and 2 million years ago, glaciers carved the mountains into jagged peaks

The Olympic Mountains are about a mile above sea level. The view changes often.  The craggy ice-covered mountaintops are shining in the sun; five minutes ago clouds shrouded the peaks.

Once again I choose a route that will not be as taxing as the regular hike.  Looking out from Hurricane Ridge visitor center, the views from every direction are fabulous. Distant waters and hills here, mountains and glaciers there.  


This photo is from one of the hikers who took the 'main' route for Hurricane Ridge:

The mountains you see ahead are the same as those in the photo above, only having taken a shorter route, I was much closer when I took that photo.

After lunch, a few of us opt for the short Moments In Time Natural Trail, a 1/2-mile loop that meanders along Lake Crescent, and through old-growth lowland forest. Massive cedars and Douglas firs tower above me.  Large ferns, sheltered by the shade,  cover the ground at my feet.  As I take the loop, I'm sadly aware that this temperate rainforest, these mountains and hills,  all this vibrant life, will soon be part of my journal and no long part of my daily plan.

Moments In Time Natural Trail

Our last hike is to Marymere Falls. The trail is a scenic and relatively easy one-mile climb.  The waterfall plummets ninety feet to a pool below, a rocky grotto is filled with greenery.  

Marymere Falls

From the falls we head to breakfast, finish packing and load the vans.  By 10 A.M. we’re en route to Port Townsend.  This pretty port town of less than 10,000 people has seaport charm.  Closing  our trip here is like making a gradual transition back to ‘real life’.

Port Townsend from https://jeffcountychamber.org/port-townsend/

I’ve been making that transition throughout the trip as I’ve come up against my limitations.  I have been very lucky to be traveling with such an amiable group,  to be with knowledgeable and skilled guides who helped me find the ‘right’ activity when a planned hike seemed out of my reach.  But as I look back on this beautiful trip and look ahead,  I know that this is  likely my last hiking trip.  How very lucky that it was with such good people and in such an exquisitely lovely setting.  

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Lake Crescent Lodge

Lake Crescent

Located along the northern border of Olympic National Park, Lake Crescent is a beautiful turquoise lake formed by glacial passage. Steep mountain ridges rise up almost 1,500 feet over the lake, while the deepest part of the water is about 24 feet below sea level.  Lake Crescent is over 600 feet deep in some places.  That's what happens

The rooms are connected in row, with one side of each room facing an area on the lake, so we can step out to a patio like area , sit, and enjoy the view.  We have cross-ventilation. We have little beach-front lake views, We can sit in the sunset and enjoy.

Lake Crescent  (I had thought this was Lake Quinault;  I've since realized it was taken closer to the end of the trip & is likely Lake Crescent. )

A few of us has gathered in front of our room,  and we’re reviewing the day, the hikes, and talking cell phones (ah, reality bites).  For the first time since leaving Seattle, most of us can connect… and do.  It’s not very vacation-y but we get the news.
Carrie needs to make a phone call.
Amy finds out that NJ governor McGreavy (this trip was a while ago) has announced he will resign right after the November elections, because he is gay and he knew that someone was about to spitefully ‘out’ him.
Linda gets a message about work that makes her wish she hadn’t checked her messages.
Larry  gets a message about a reduction in force that makes him wonder if he’ll be employed on Monday.
And one guy gets no messages, and feels unneeded. Perhaps he can take Linda’s message?

We all try to put these thoughts behind us as we head for dinner. 

The Healing Waters of Sol Duc ?

I’m glad I didn’t just take the day off while the group hiked Lovers Lane trail.  I’m glad there were people who saw me hiking…even though I didn't go on the full hie and I missed the waterfall. I’m also glad that I have accepted reality... I may not belong on a hiking trip like the ones I’ve enjoyed before, and I’ve learned on this trip what I can do. 

Back at the hot springs, I go out to the hottest of the mineral pools.  There’s some debate about the meaning of Sol Duc.  One story says the Quileute Indian name for the Sol Duc hot springs is si'bi', “stinky place”.  Another story claims Sol Duc is an Indian word for "sparkling water". 
What we do know is that in the 1880s an early settler-- Theodore Moritz-- staked a claim, built cedar-log tubs and managed to attract people who came to the healing waters.  After Moritz’s death in 1909, timber company owner Michael Earles bought the land and built an elegant hotel and a road from Lake Crescent. The hotel was destroyed in a fire only a few years later, but the springs continue to attract people searching for that unique mineral-spring healing.

I guess that’s what I’m doing. The minerals leave a slick residue on my skin that reminds me of the Dead Sea.   A couple of people from my trip and I boil ourselves for a bit and then cool off.  After doing this a few times, I decide I am no more agile and flexible than I was when I came into the pools, and I have had quite enough of the stinky soak.  Off to the showers and then to the van.

But there is no van.  I know I'm not late... perhaps I'm a little too early?  But where is the van?  Turns out somebody had left a cell phone on the trail and they’d driven as close as possible to the point they thought they'd find it ...and someone dashed up to the trail, and rescued the phone. 
Cell phone?  Aaaaaahh -- is vacation coming to a close?
When references to electronic devices begin,  it seems likely.

But we still have a little more time... and we’re off to Lake Crescent.

A (Little) Walk in the Woods

I know a mineral soak might ease some of my physical discomfort, but the idea of not doing any walking is not sitting well with me.
 
So I find a map, find the trailhead, and try my luck as a solo hiker on Lovers Lane.
 
Without anxiety about being too slow and last in line, I’m feeling better. The first quarter mile parallels the parking lot, lodge, and pools. Not a very rustic or woodsy feeling--pretty much the opposite of what I’ve been appreciating about the rain forest.  
 

Trail leaving Lodge

Gradually, I leave civilization behind. As I meander, I think, “I’ll go 10 minutes and turn around.”   “I’ll go another 10 minutes and turn around.”  And so I keep on going.
 
The trail demands that I keep my eyes on the ground, planning the next place to set my foot.  But it’s beautiful.  I’m back in the forest primeval, appreciating the wonder of these giant trees, the sun and shadows through the branches. I'm strolling (it would be an exaggeration to say 'hiking') parallel to the river, taking in the sound of the running waters and the smell of the forest; relaxed enough admire the vast variety of life around me-- mosses, ferns, nurse logs, skittering animals, flitting insects, birds.... 

Trail Near Sol Duc Lodge

 
I cross a single-log bridge -- I’ve seen these on almost every hike on this trip. Fallen trees are suspended over an area of water or maybe where there is a sharp but narrow drop in the trail.  The logs are scored to make footing less slippery, and an angled railing on one side gives hikers something to grip.  Bearing in mind that there are trees here over a hundred feet tall, a fallen log can create a long bridge. Around the time I get to the middle of the ‘bridge’, it does a little trembling sort of thing to remind me how long it is, but it's  sturdy and I'm steady.

Sol Duc log bridge

I’ve been walking for about an hour when I see two of my group, people who took the easier shorter hike, coming toward me around the next bend in the trail. I’ve been poking along slowly, they’ve been going their usual pace, and we meet as they're approaching the end of their hike. 

Sol Duc River

We stop for lunch alongside the river  (thank you, Linda, for making that sandwich this morning).  Then the three of us head back toward the lodge and pools.  It isn’t until we’re leaving the trail and going toward the lodge that the hikers who took the longer route reach the point where we had lunch.  The length of time it took them to get there highlights what I avoided when I chose not to go with either group.  I'm glad I didn't just sit in a mineral pool, but I'm also glad I chose challenges I could manage. 
          
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Sol Duc Hot Springs; a Road Not Taken?

I have mentioned before that my travel blog is based on journals I keep when I travel.  When I took this trip to the Olympic Peninsula, I was struggling with back and knee problems.  I open this post with that information for a few reasons. 
We've reached the point in the trip where I am not with the hiking group very much. 
We’ve reached the point in the trip where I realize this may be my last hiking trip.

Our guide tells me she’s a little concerned about me on the Lovers Lane hike.  It’s not a steep hike but it requires that you watch your feet every second--rough terrain with lots of roots and rocks.

I spend the morning tending to a few little blisters and feeling slightly ill.  The 5th consecutive day of anxiety about what I can and can’t do is taking it’s toll.  While people are making their lunches, I’m worrying about what I should do.  Linda kindly puts together a sandwich for me. 

We get the vans to a parking lot where all the hikers take off---but not I. I head down to Sol Duc resort and lodge, which has hot springs. Hot springs are supposed to be a source of soothing and healing for aching muscles, sore bodies. This is where one of the hikes—the shorter Lovers Lane hike—will end. 

Hot mineral springs like the these generally form close to volcanic craters.  The sulfur and other minerals supposedly have many benefits: good for your skin, can lower blood pressure, ease asthma symptoms, soothe arthritis discomfort (now we’re talkin’?) and reduce stress, among other things.

The three pools are different depths and temperatures:  one is just about eight inches deep and 99 F (37C).  The two other pools are both about three feet deep; one is about 101F (38C) and the other is about 104F.

According to Native American legend, battling dragons created the Sol Duc Hot Springs.  The monstrous creatures lived in separate valleys, neither aware of the other.  One day they were exploring their respective terrains (turns out they overlapped?) and a fight followed.

The vicious battle didn’t resolve the territorial claims, but the injuries did create the valley, destroying trees on the surrounding mountains,  scattering boulders.  The fighters' flayed skin created the rainforest features of moss and lichen.  Ultimately, the dragons retreated to their  homes and wept.   The hot tears they cried formed Sol Duc and Olympic hot springs. 

Sol Duc Hot Springs

With this legend in mind, I check out the springs—smell like fart to me.  I check out the lodge.  I check out the store.  I have checked everything there is to check and there is no way I’m going to just sit in the stinky mineral pools for a few hours, no matter how soothing they might be. No way.

If you’d like to see some images of the road not taken, please visit  https://www.hikingproject.com/trail/7002050 .

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Hoh River Raft Trip

The Hoh River winds down from Mt. Olympus through the Hoh Rain Forest, and we’re going to cruise down a relatively quiet section of river for a few hours of relaxing nature viewing.  Our raft trip is a  Class I to II- guided scenic float trip with some mild whitewater.

The guide in my raft, Wild Bill, is pretty funny.  He and his fellow rafters are the kind of guys you might see on extreme sports shows. They call everyone ‘dude’ and seem very relaxed and at ease. Bill emphasizes the importance of safety, pointing out the various calamities that can occur and ending each warning with “bad, … more paperwork for Bill…”.

Regardless of the fairly easy nature of the trip, two of the women  are very nervous. One sits in the middle and never lets go of the people on either side of her.  I sit in the middle because I'm lazy and don’t want to paddle.  A woman named Jan asks me not to let go of her.  So every time we go over a ripple of any sort, I hold on to her life vest and say… “I've saved your life… again!”  Between my life-saving activities ((hah) we enjoy the wit of Wild Bill, talking about critters that we *might* see, that he *had* seen, that we *could* see.  Mostly what we see is… you guessed it… insects. Ok, there are some birds, too.

At one point, to emphasize that I was NOT scared, I switch seats from middle to edge of the raft and dangle one foot at a time (at  Bill’s suggestion) in the water. This precaution helps prevent me from gracefully slipping into the water.  If I *were* to slip into the water by accident, I'd be inclined to head towards a logjam thinking, "I'll grab onto a log."

Bill's advice is to do just the opposite.   He explains the danger of  ‘strainers”--logjams that form when the rapid current catches logs in the river and brings them together.  The river water is usually fastest there, and it goes under the logjam, taking careless, leg-dangling rafters with it.

So I dangle a foot at a time and then return to my perch where I can save Jan’s life—again.

At the end of the raft trip we return to Kalaloch to our cabin by the sea, and another great dinner.  I think… I’m not sure… I may turn into a salmon.

 (I regret that I have no photos because I didn't want to risk getting my camera wet.  For an idea of rafting on the Hoh, please visit  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAj80Qzsed8

Hoh River Trail

At Kalaloch Lodge, we have our own rustic cabin complete with wood stove; spacious and cozy all at once. Dinner in the Lodge dining room is especially fun for us after our hike on the beach during the incoming tide. Trying to outrun the water has brought the group closer and given us something to laugh at--especially the Fast Women.

Rested and refreshed, we start our next day with another hike in the temperate rainforest along the Hoh River, which descends from Mount Olympus, the Peninsula’s highest peak.  Like mountains, canyons, and other natural phenomena, the rainforest continues to awe me.  It gives my world --and my life-- perspective.  Humongous, ancient trees tower over me, and the surreal canopy of green mosses, new growth sprouting from old, and layers of life, all make me feel simultaneously small and insignificant, and yet part of a vast and endless cycle of life.
  

 Rainforest along the
Hoh River

Besides the prolific tree and plant life of the rain forest, a variety of wildlife also thrives here. I’ve  seen the insect portion of it. (If you've followed my blog for a while, you know mosquitos love me.  Apparently wild animals ---not so much.)  Theoretically we could see deer, black bear, eagles, cougar, bobcat, otter and a host of others, but so far—insects.

And a marmot! The Olympic Forest marmot population has been declining, but I thought I’ve occasionally heard a whistle-like call that wasn't really bird-like.  Marmots sound alerts to the others in their group when intruders approach (that would be us) or to the interlopers (again, us) to warn them away.  As we're moving, someone in front of me points... there he is!  The lookout marmot doesn't yell at me the way the one in Yellowstone did.  In fact, he doesn't stay long ...but I do manage to get a photo. 

Olympic Marmot

We hike through the rainforest to Marymere Falls.  I'm not sure whether I took an easier route, was preoccupied with finding wildlife,  was too uncomfortable to appreciate consistently the beauty around me... but fortunately, my friend Linda has pictures of places I either missed or failed to photograph.  (Thank you, Linda.)  The one below was en route to the falls.

 And we stop at the falls for lunch.

Marymere Falls

The last section of the trail up to the falls is a little tough but I make it, plant myself on a mossy log, and enjoy a cheese sandwich that tastes better than anything I’ve ever eaten.  Amazing how outdoor activity can have that effect.

The hike back is mostly downhill (a bit of a challenge to my knee)  about 2.5 miles.  We return to the vans for rest and refreshment and then, a raft trip down the Hoh River.

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I couldn't find a definitive term for a group of marmots: a sprawl, or a madness,  a group...?  If you know, please let me know.

The Story of Fast Women Beach and How It Got Its Name

On any group trip, people will have varied interests and move at different paces.  Some are always ahead of the pack;  some are bird watchers;  some explore the flora; some are slow (or short)....

When those of us who are slow see ‘ahead of the pack’ hikers coming back towards us on Beach 4, we wonder why.

The tide is turning, they tell us.  Those of us at the back may reach a point formerly just wet sand, soon to be covered by the returning tide, before we get to Ruby Beach.  Trying to circumvent the water may mean cliff-climbing. The driver who was to pick us up at the end of the hike had suggested these people redirect us back to our starting point.

So we do what the returning walkers are doing... we turn around to go back to our starting point. And as I am making my way back, a story grows. 

I think Beach 4 deserves a better name.  And after our adventure outrunning the tide to get back where we started,  I think Fast Women Beach is the perfect name.  Don't know if anyone else will call Beach 4 "Fast Women Beach"  ...but here's the story.
 
                           The Story of Fast Women Beach and How It Got Its Name*

There once was a beach with no name and all the animals called it Beach 4.  One day Humans came to walk on the beach.  There were Long-Legged Humans, Bird Watching Humans, Fast-moving (and very loving) Grandparent Humans, Father-and-Daughter Humans, Dare-to-Try Women, and Small Walking Women.

The Long-Legged Humans always bravely led the way, blazing the trail ahead. They walked very fast and very far, leaving the others behind. The other Humans followed in small groups, enjoying the sea and sand, the animals and plants.  They saw the Starfish, smiled at the Seagulls, played with the Pelicans, waved to the Whale just off shore, and admired the Anemone.

But then the Humans began to hear rumors.
 - The tide is changing
 - The waters are coming.
 - The sands will soon be under the sea.

The Long-Legged Humans were far, far ahead. They waded through water, climbed tall cliffs, and came safely to dry land.

The Bird-Watching Humans turned around and began to walk back, enjoying the beach and the animals from the new direction.

The Fast-moving Grandparent Humans turned around too, and moved a little faster, walking along the beach together and admiring the world around them.

The Dare-to-Try Women also turned around.  Even though they would dare to try anything, they chose to walk back to the starting point with the others….still relaxed, still enjoying the beach.

But the Small Walking Women were worried.
“We are small,” they said.
“We might drown,” they said.
“We must hurry to return to the starting point before the waters come in.”

 So two Small Walking Women began to walk fast. (One just couldn’t be really fast no matter what she did. She made plans to hand her camera up to her friends and say ‘goodbye’ before the waters took her away.  Oh well.)

The Small Walking Women left the Bird-Watching Humans behind. They went by the Dare-to-Try Women. They passed the Fast-moving Grandparent Humans.  The Small Walking Women moved so fast they kicked clouds of sand up behind them with each fast step.

The Small Walking Women walked so fast that the Pelicans and Seagulls came to watch.  They walked so fast that the Starfish began to talk.  The Mollusks looked out of their shells. The Whale followed their path from his ocean home.

The Small Walking Women walked so fast that the animals decided to help them. The Whale, the Pelicans, the Seagulls, the Mollusks, the Anemones, and the Starfish moved in their own ways to slow the waves and hold the tide back just a bit while the Small Walking Women made their way along the beach, their fast-moving little feet a blur to the eye.  The Women reached the starting point, clambered up the cliff to safety and were in time to meet the Long-Legged Humans who had been so very far ahead.

Because of the hard work of the Small Walking Women and the help of the sea creatures who admired them, all the other Humans-- Bird Watching Humans, Fast-moving Grandparent Humans, Father-and-Daughter Humans, Dare-to-Try Women, and even the woman who was prepared to hand her camera up and float away, all arrived safely on dry land.

And the animals honored Small Walking Women for their courage and speed by changing the name of the beach from Beach 4 to Fast Women Beach.

And that is how Fast Women Beach got its name.

*The pseudonyms that help make the story describe the members of our happy hiking group... maybe a little exaggeration in here but the story is true. Except for the name of the beach.

Exploring the Tide Pools of Beach 4

We leave the world’s largest spruce behind and move on to finish the coastal forest loop, and then stop for lunch at the Kalaloch (pronounced ‘Claylock’) Lodge.  Our guides are timing the end of our break to coincide with low tide at Beach 4, so we can take a coastal walk to Ruby Beach.  

Olympic National Park conserves a sixty-five mile stretch of undeveloped Pacific coastline, some sections with names like 'Ruby Beach'... and then there are Beaches 1, 2, 3, and 4. Just hearing 'Beach 4' makes me want to rename it. (More about that later)

The receding seawater  exposes tide pools that form when rocky surroundings create ‘holes' that retain water.  The pools are home to a wide range of life:  starfish, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, barnacles, anemones, and more. 

To start our beach walk, we clamber down a reasonable looking trail ….reasonable until we get to the end.  The strong and fleet of foot are on the left, and the descent is so steep and demands such large steps that I can’t do it without considerable help.  Meanwhile, on the other side of the same rock mini-cliff, some women are coming up saying  “this side is easier.”  Too late for me now.... 

As we walk the beach, we can see Destruction Island in the distance.  The half-mile long, 300-foot wide island earned its name by contributing to the violent history of the area’s early explorers.  More than once in the late 18th century, an explorer vessel would anchor at the island and send crew members ashore--only to have the natives protect their home by massacring the intruders.

Destruction Island

 If you look closely you can see a tiny white speck near the left of the island in this photo-- that is the lighthouse built in the late 19th century.  

Early in the beach walk we stop to investigate tide pools harboring sea anemone and many starfish.  Unfortunately I can’t negotiate the rocks, keep my balance, and manage my camera all at one time, so I do not get many good photos of the tide pools. There is this one good starfish shot....

Starfish in Tide Pool

I learn that starfish have no front or back: they can go in any direction without turning. They move, not by using muscles but by moving hundreds of tiny legs, with ‘tube feet’ that use hydraulic power to cling to rocks.  Basically, the starfish takes in fluid from a valve on the top of its body, transfers the water to its legs applying force that enables motion.  Until I learn this from our guides, I have never thought about how a starfish moved.  

Those same hydraulic feet are what starfish use to get at their food. They search for mollusks, sensing chemicals that the prey release. The starfish-hunter then uses those suction cups to latch onto the shell and pull, forcing the shell open.

More interesting starfish factoids.  Starfish can re-grow limbs.   And they can change color and to camouflage themselves.

Besides tide pools and Destruction Island, the walk on the beach is truly beautiful. At one point, we see a whale spout (Whales surface to breathe and their exhalations create a spout of moist, warm air from blowholes on the top of their heads.) Pelicans and seagulls draw our attention.

Unfortunately, I'm so worried about keeping up*, especially before the tide comes back in, that I don't take many pictures. For a better idea of what you can see on Beach 4, please visit https://www.outdoorproject.com/adventures/washington/beaches/kalaloch-beach-4https://www.outdoorproject.com/adventures/washington/beaches/kalaloch-beach-4



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*I've said this more than once.  For readers who do not know me...I am short.  I'd like to say 'petite', but I am short.  And I am not as mobile or agile as I once was. 

The Forest Primeval

"This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 
Stand like harper hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Our morning hike takes us on a 5-mile walk where every square inch of ground is covered with life,  plants and animals live on top of each other. There is intense competition for space.

Whether they're temperate forests or tropical jungles, rainforests are densely populated. Standing among trees hundreds of feet tall, where every spot of space harbors life, I find the rainforest is eerie, intriguing, and awe-inspiring-- an intricate, interwoven biological  ecosystem.

The Olympic Peninsula temperate rainforest has few equals. The western valleys get ten+ feet of rain a year--more than any other part of the continental US.   Three factors produce all that rainfall -  cool ocean currents from the Pacific combining with the westerly winds, and the Olympic Mountains. When the moisture-laden clouds move in from the ocean, they rise to meet the mountains; the air mass cools as it goes up,  moisture condenses, and the rains fall, nurturing life and land below.  By the time the air reaches the northeast side of the mountain, it has little rain left to offer.

The temperatures here don't reach extremes: the coldest weather rarely goes under freezing, and summer temperatures infrequently exceed 80°F.

The stages of the forest life cycle are visible everywhere.  Down here on the ground, as dead wood decays, it becomes the life source for mosses, new trees, fungus, small mammals, amphibians, and insects.

Nurse logs -- remnants of trees that have fallen --litter the forest floor and now provide nutrients for the next generation of life.  The nurse logs are covered with moss, and then give homes to ferns and other floor plants.  New trees sprout from old ones.

Nurse Log--fallen log whose remains allow moss to grow and give new life sustenance.

All that covers the ground creates opportunity for new life to rise up. I’m overwhelmed by the size of the ferns, the trees, and moss hanging from the branches. 

Rainforest Fern--the person standing next to it gives you an idea of its size

Some of these giant old trees are well over 250 feet tall, with a circumference that exceeding fifty feet.

One thousand year old Sitka Spruce

Even with people for perspective, it's difficult to grasp the size of this 1,000 year old spruce tree.  Since my trip, the park service has put a sign:

 

from http://www.rainforestresort.com/spruce-tree.htm 

The rainforest biome is filled with life, all of it interacting to maintain the ecosystem.  Among the valued life forms---Slinky the Banana Slug (ok,  I named him...I don’t know what his mother called him)

Slinky the Banana Slug

I can’t say I find banana slugs appealing, but they are an essential part of the natural cycle.  Slugs decompose dead plants and animal droppings, recycling them into nutrient-rich matter that contributes to new growth.  I’m glad they’re there, I’m glad they do their job.  I’ll also be glad if I don’t get to close to one again. 

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As I make my way through the woods, some up, some down, all fairly manageable,  I realize I’m clutching my hiking pole like a crutch.  I’m a little tense about my ability to do this, and a lot angry at my body for turning on me.  Enough of that….

From the City to the Temperate Rainforest

After the very ‘citified’ experience of Tacoma's beautiful Museum of Glass, we head to Lake Sylvia, a little over an hour from Tacoma, for our first ‘warm up’ hike and lunch by the lake.

The first part of the trail around Lake Sylvia has gentle slopes but there’s no significant elevation gain.  The tranquility of the natural beauty is a significant contrast to the man-made beauty of the Museum of Glass that we’ve left behind.

Lake Sylvia

After lunch, we have a one hour drive to Lake Quinault in the southern area of Olympic National Park.  The lake is in a temperate rainforest that can get ten feet (or more) of rain a year.  North American temperate rainforests are primarily in the northwest coastal region where winds bring ample rainfall from the ocean. 

Sitka spruce, western hemlock, Douglas fir and western red cedar all grow to great heights in this area.  In fact, sitka spruce grow well only in wet, foggy conditions of the temperate rain forests. The sitka spruce can’t control water loss through it’s needles, so the coastal moisture--fog and rain -- is critical for its  survival.

The trees loom above us; at the lower levels, big leaf and vine maple are proliferate, along with many kinds of ferns, blackberries and huckleberries.

We arrive at Quinault Lodge in time to settle in,  enjoy the end of day and a beautiful sunset.

Lake Quinault Lodge

Lake Quinault Sunset

Sunset

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An important reminder that I should have put earlier in this series:  my blog posts are based on journals I keep when I travel;   I write now from the comfort of my home.  I supplement my notes and photos with research as necessary, because things change, and I don’t want my posts to mislead my readers.  I welcome any additional updated information you may have to offer on places I’ve been.

Hiking on the Olympic Peninsula: First, The Glass Museum

Hiking the Columbia River Gorge with Country Walkers, traversing live volcanoes, walking on Mt. St. Helens, all made such an impression on me that I decide to return to Washington.  This time I'll join a group in the Olympic Peninsula, once again with Country Walkers (www.countrywalkers.com).

 
We meet in Seattle to begin our trip to Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.  Before leaving city life behind, our guides take us to the Museum of Glass to see the Chihuly Bridge of Glass. While it isn’t the rustic start you might expect to a hiking trip, it *is* quite a sight.

Dale Chihuly, originally from Tacoma, Washington, is a famous glass sculptor whose work has earned an extraordinary reputation.    His creations are spectacular--that really is the best word.  Working with the Museum and the support of the city of Tacoma, Chihuly designed a five-hundred foot pedestrian ‘glass bridge’ that connects the museum to downtown.

The bridge has three parts: the ceiling is a ‘Seaform Pavilion’ that holds over 2,000 of Chihuly’s works.

Seaform Pavilion (ceiling) gives the visitor a feeling of walking beneath the ocean

The artist’s pieces are on a a glass ceiling, and the light passing through the glass to the visitors below creates an almost other-worldly sense of a colorful subaquatic walk.

 
Sixty-three crystal towers, reflecting natural light,  rise forty feet above the deck of the bridge--the pedestrian overpass-- that links the museum to the city’s central area.  Daylight reflects on and shines through the colorful pillars,  and illumination from the bottom of the towers adds to the their depth and character.

One of sixty-three crystal towers on the bridge

  

The ‘Venetian Wall’ is closest to the Museum.  This displays over 100 of Chihuly’s pieces from three different series:  Venetians, Ikebana, and Putti.  The beautiful glass art highlights the change we’re about to make, from city and man-made art to the natural beauty of a temperate rain forest.

Venetian Wall

  

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I regret that none of my photos accurately reflect the unique beauty of Chihuly’s work. To learn more, please visit https://museumofglass.org/outdoor-art/chihuly-bridge-of-glassmuseumofglass.org/ 

 and  http://www.chihuly.com/learnhttp://www.chihuly.com/learn