Sky to Sea

Looking west up at the top of Hurricane Ridge.

I look out at the Olympic Peninsula each and every day. At least once.

Sometimes I drive out of my way just to park the car and stare.

And each and every time I am consumed with wanderlust. 

I know it's not Nepal, and it's only across the water, but there's something about that place that makes my inner vagabond sing {and yes, I know you've heard of her before}. 

The mountains, of course. They're jagged, deeply forested, and snow-covered.

My eyes are drawn to them, just as they are to chocolate covered caramels sprinkled with sea salt.

Yep, they're that awesome.

Really, its the green places that get me. The forested bits.

The trail at Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge. 

There are five different types of forests in the Olympic National Park, classified by their elevation zone: Coastal, Temperate Rain Forest, Lowland, Montane, and Subalpine.

Worldwide, there are countless forests, but these ones...I swear they're different. Truly special.

They're quiet and old, loamy and dark. They resonate in her head and heart, and wipe the chaos from your mind. 

And then, there's the water.

Surrounded by the Puget Sound, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the Pacific Ocean, our Peninsula is heavy on the wet stuff.

There are islands, rivers, lakes, spits, waterfalls, harbors, bays, beaches, off-shore sea stacks, and tidepools. In essence, water is everything out there.

And, as you might have guessed by now, I also love the water.

So, over Father's Day weekend, we caught a ferry.

Our destination: Valley of the Dungeness.

Mister, hiking along a strip of coastline in Sequim.

More specifically (and less dramatically), Sequim - a little town placed precariously on the northwestern most point of the contiguous United States.

Now, say what you will about rainfall in Washington State, but leave Sequim (pronounced Skwim) out of it.

This town falls within the rainshadow of the Olympic Mountains, collecting a scanty 16 inches of precipitation per year.

That's on par with Los Angeles, people.

And because of this unusual fact - less rain, more sun - the region is known for its lavender fields. And retirees. And hipsters. And organic farmers. And outdoor nuts. And regular folks just getting by.

I like it a lot.

So, Sequim served as our homebase, and along with my parents, we stayed at the Juan de Fuca Cottages. On the water and surrounded by pastureland and livestock, it was the ideal escape for us urbanites.

Walking back to the Cottages.

That first afternoon and evening was chill. We took some deep breaths. We frolicked.

Correction: I frolicked. My children just copied their crazy Mama.

We ate dinner at Alderwood Bistro, a kickass restaurant in the downtown core that uses
local, organic, and seasonal ingredients. Their homemade ketchup is divine.

The next day, we explored.

First stop, Hurricane Ridge.

Of all the mountain areas, this is the most easily accessible. The road is open 24 hours a day during the summer months, and several days a week in the winter.

And there are hundreds of trails just waiting to be trekked. Literally hundreds.

I've snowshoed up there before, but this was my first visit in the summer. Sweet, sweet, sun-in-my-face summertime.

No frostbite for us, no sir.

Aaand, of course there was still snow. 

Thankfully, I'm a forgetful person - the sort with a stash of winter wear in June. So, we dug into the center console, and in no time at all, my children emerged from the car ready for the elements.

Accidental preparedness - gotta love it.

Deer grazed on hillsides. Marmots sunned themselves on snowpacks. Clouds blew over the peaks and down into the valleys.

We walked along several of their snow-free paved pathways and picnicked in the woods. 

It was beautiful. You should go.

Second stop, Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge and Recreation Area.

To be honest, my expectations were low.

I love beaches – the raw, wild, and rocky kind. I've seen more than my fair share of them, and I expected this to be the same as all the rest.

See? Careening children and snap-happy people welcome.

Yeeaah. I was wrong.

The whole experience begins with a beautiful, mile-long hike through the woods.

Trees are dense, air is moist, ferns are plentiful.

The trail is well-maintained and wide - perfect for careening children and certain distracted people (eh-hem) who don't watch where they're going because of rapid fire picture taking. 

Near the end, the path descends down toward the water. And it's breathtaking, that first glimpse.

The riotous pounding of the waves, the wind that whips hair and sculpts old-growth evergreens.

And this is no ho-hum sand spit, either.

This formation is one of the world's longest natural sand spits. It's 5 1/2 miles long, and quite narrow. 50 feet wide at its narrowest point.

The stunning Dungeness Spit.

At the far end is a lighthouse that's been guiding ships since 1857. Hiking out and back takes a whopping 10 hours. And wow, the kids were troopers!

Just kidding. We got about 20 yards and called it good.

Being somewhat of a beach stone freak, I set to work examining the rocks. The kids set to work playing with seaweed (cool) and rolling in the sand (not cool).

Love the beach, hate the sand. Ah, the irony.

We took a few Father's Day pics, watched the bald eagles overhead, climbed the towering piles of driftwood, and enjoyed the view.

To the left: shrouded outline of the peninsula coastline and the Olympic Mountains. Ahead: Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the Pacific beyond. To the right: distant mass of Vancouver Island.

And when the waves began to crash a little harder, and Mac began to whine a little louder, we took our cue to leave.

Crab craziness out there.

Back through the coastal countryside, with its lavender fields and sea spray cottages. Back for one last lazy night by the sea.

Thus our peninsula adventure came to a close, because the following day was spent journeying home - though any drive that includes a ferry ride can hardly be considered bad.

* Takeaway: come prepared for any sort of weather, make some plans but not too many, visit the mountains and the water, and frolic as much as possible.

Sky to Sea in one weekend. The End. :)

Looking southwest at the top of Hurricane Ridge.

The beach in front of the Cottages.

Hurricane Ridge

Mister, taking the path down to the beach.

Memorial Day

It started with my mother's father, a man I never knew. We scrubbed his grave every Memorial Day weekend.

I remember the bucket of sudsy water, the brush sloughing grime and moss from his headstone. The puttering of my mom and her mother as they cut the flowers and placed them in the buried vase.

And now there are so many other graves to clean - ten in as many years. Some we get around to, and some we do not, but it always feels good to do this little thing.

Some soap and cheerful blooms. An hour or two at most.

Week in and week out, a lifetime of love - that's what they gave us. And now we visit them on this day, to clear their names of debris, to keep them company.

To make them real to a generation beyond.

Alongside us, my children do this little thing now, too. And together, we all remember how amazing a close family can be.