Olympic Coast

In October of 2017, we backpacked the Pacific coast within Washington’s Olympic National Park. We did it over two trips. The first was five days and four nights, and the second was two days and one night. John was 64 and Jean was 63.

We left our motorhome in the Mora Campground and did the long drive north to Neah Bay. As we would be starting this trip on Makah Tribal Land, we needed to obtain a Recreation Pass from the Makah Tribe (available at several businesses in Neah Bay). We also needed a wilderness camping permit from the National Park Service. We paid to park our car on someone’s property near the trailhead. This is a service that several locals provide.

The trail through the woods started out great …

… but got a bit mucky in places and we much appreciated the tree rounds, logs and rocks that had been judiciously placed to keep us out of the muck.

When it came time to drop down to the beach, we did so with the assistance of a rope. I knew this would not be the last rope we would see.

Shi Shi Beach is a popular destination, and the area bears evidence of heavy use, but on a weekday in October, it was deserted.

Shi Shi does offer quite a payoff for such a short hike, so I imagine it is quite crowded on weekends during the summer.

I love Washington’s coast with its rugged sea stacks …

… and the powerful waves of the Pacific Ocean.

We almost couldn’t believe our good fortune in having such great weather this late in the season.

It had been several years since we had been to the coast, so we took a few minutes to just take it all in. And then we started to walk.

It was exciting to see this eagle soaring above us …

… and swooping down to pick up the remains of a dead fish or shorebird.

Fortunately, we didn’t have too far to go that first day.

We made camp, had supper and John headed out to do photography of the striking rocks …

… in the golden evening light.

The next morning, we headed out …

… and rounded a headland at low tide. The rocks were often slippery …

… and patches of flat sand were welcomed even if short lived.

Occasionally we encountered “shortcuts” through the rocks …

… although some were blocked and we had to go the long way around the headland.

Something we found disturbing was how few anemones we saw. What was shocking was that we did not see a single sea star! I later read that the complete disappearance of sea stars has been linked to warming oceans. It was so sad because I can remember walking along Washington’s coast at low tide in the past and marveling at the abundance of life in the tide pools. Rocks were covered with purple and orange sea stars, pools quivered with the waving tentacles of anemones and bristled with sea urchins and crabs. Now, one is lucky to see a single living creature in a tide pool.

Washington’s Olympic coast is quite rugged. While there are stretches of flat compacted sands, much of the coast is rocky, requiring a slower and more deliberate hiking pace.

There are countless headlands. Some can be circumvented at low tide, although doing so usually means walking across wet rocks covered in slippery kelp.

However, others you can’t get around safely no matter how low the tide is. Then your only option is to go over them, and the routes are marked with a distinctive sign.

These routes are usually quite steep and slippery but there are ropes to assist you.

It reminded us of the ropes we used to help get us down and back up the steep sides of the deep gullies we encountered when hiking around Mount St. Helens back in July. We appreciated these ropes just as much.

Sometimes, while atop a headland, we got a “peekaboo” view of the rocks and ocean below us.

After dropping down from this headland we discovered we were only crossing a small cove …

… before it was necessary to ascend another headland.

Oftentimes the trails across the headlands were quite good and we could make good time. Other times, not so much.

It is a treat when the trail is close to the edge and the trees open up enough to provide a great view …

… before it takes you back into the woods and dense foliage.

That morning we were treated to a veritable light show …

… as the sun streamed through the trees.

After crossing a headland and getting back down to the beach, there was always a new crop of sea stacks to become familiar with as they became our temporary hiking companions.

This hike developed a sort of rhythm; another headland, another rope.

Another headland, some rocks …

… and more rocks.

There is something about beach hiking that distorts a backpacker’s relationship with time. Normally, when backpacking we don’t concern ourselves much with time. John plans reasonable trips well within our capabilities. Each day we know how far we need to go and generally if we maintain a steady pace we make it to our destination before dark without any issues. But coastal backpack trips are way different, and it has everything to do with tides. A current tide chart becomes your constant companion.

The map indicates how low a tide needs to be to get around a specific headland, and the tide chart predicts what the tide will be in a general area at a general time. That information is used to extrapolate what a tide might be at the headlands you need to get around in the hours and days to come. To safely navigate the coast, it is essential to become familiar with the tide chart and closely monitor your progress, recognizing it is more of an “art form” than a hard-and-fast science.

If you make a mistake (or are unduly delayed) and miss getting around a headland, then your error could be compounded. It could negatively impact your ability to get around the next one. Time becomes a precious commodity that, once lost, can never be gotten back, and you constantly monitor your progress against the clock. When we encountered beaches of open flat sand, we thought, now we can make good time. When we needed to cross long stretches of slippery rocks, we went as fast as was prudent to not lose too much time. You hurry, hurry, hurry until you are forced to stop because you are out of time and the tide is coming in and there is nothing you can do about it but wait for it to go out again.

When we reached this spot John realized we did not have enough time to make it around the next headland before high tide so we needed to find a place where we could wait it out.

We decided this rock should be above high tide.

We climbed up on it and got comfortable. As John now had plenty of time, he got his tripod out, a first on this backpack trip.

We watched as the water gradually submerged the beach we had just walked on …

… as well as the beach we still needed to cross.

The waves beat against the base of our rock, but we remained safe and dry.

Watching waves roll in and back out is almost meditation.

After hurrying to make it around headlands all day, all we could do now was just sit back and relax.

Well, technically sitting around is not the only thing a couple can do while waiting for low tide. Back in 1978 we did a day hike along the Olympic coast to the south and ended up getting splashed by a wave while trying to get around a headland when the tide was coming in. We found a protected spot (Strawberry Point) where we could comfortably wait for the tide to go out again.

As our blue jeans, shoes, and socks were all soaked, we took them off and set them in the sun to dry. There we were in the middle of nowhere, not another soul around, and neither of us was wearing pants. Well, one thing led to another. On this trip I reminded John of that time, and we laughed about it. Unfortunately, some things that were fun in one’s 20s are not always still fun in one’s 60s, and making love on rocks and sand is one of them, so a smooch was as far as we went.

After the tide started to head out, we did too.

We again shifted to “high gear” as we wanted to reach our destination before dark. We would be camping on the north side of the Ozette River.

We wouldn’t have minded going a bit beyond the river except we needed to wait for a low tide to cross it safely and that would not occur until morning.

We set up camp and John went in search of water. Because of the tides, the water in the Ozette River is brackish, a combination of fresh and salt water. The ranger had told us there was a spring upstream and gave us a funky map.

John went in search of that spring but was unable to find it. It was getting dark so he continued to follow the river upstream for quite a distance and managed to barely find a spot where he could safely get down to the river and get water.

We have two methods for treating water. For drinking water, we use a SteriPen so John used it to treat some before drinking it. We hoped for the best. Unfortunately, it tasted quite salty. Our other method was to boil it. Normally, we brought our water to a good rolling boil, but this was our first experience with brackish water. I don’t know why, but when I heated water for our dinners, it vigorously boiled over and doused the flame on the stove. We were unable to light the stove again and decided to call it good.

Apparently, it wasn’t good. Within a week or so after we concluded this trip we both developed symptoms of giardiasis, which was later confirmed by lab tests. We can’t say for certain this was where we picked up Giardia, but it is the only situation where we couldn’t follow our usual protocol. In hindsight, we should have treated the brackish water with the SteriPen before heating it.

We got an early start the next morning …

… and easily waded across the Ozette River during low tide.

We then made our way across the broad kelp beds …

… and enjoyed views of the rugged sea stacks.

We continued across more rocks …

… and more kelp beds.

We were delighted to reach this spring and load up with fresh water. We were both a little dehydrated at that point and I don’t believe any water has ever tasted so good.

We passed the Ozette Indian Reservation, and I was reminded of when we were here in 1978. There used to be an archeological dig nearby, but it is now inactive. However, in 1978 the dig was still active, and we talked to one of the people working there. The ranger cabin we remembered was now abandoned.

As we continued, we encountered a bed of kelp that was quite deep. It was squishy like walking on pillows; soggy, stinky pillows.

The kelp was covered with some type of flying insect. Fortunately, they had absolutely no interest in us as we walked through them.

The Olympic coast is a very dynamic environment.

Debris, both natural and manmade, is constantly being washed up on shore.

We had encountered a wide variety of “jetsam” and “flotsam” washed up on the beaches, but this pipe was the largest thing we had seen. I can’t even imagine the storm it took to wash it ashore from wherever it originated.

In addition to the pleasant salt smell to the sea air, one’s senses are alerted to the smells of both life …

… and death.

At least in death these creatures can assist others in their quest for survival.

We had another headland to get around …

… and it didn’t appear we could make it all the way around before high tide.

We were forced to stop. However, we took the opportunity to dry out our tent which had gotten quite damp while camping next to the Ozette River the previous night.

I also took some time to just wander around and take photos. Being on the coast is not just about the expansive views of the ocean and sea stacks. Sometimes it is about the sculpting done by water; on the rocks, …

… in the sand, …

… and on wood.

There is also the sculpting done by the wind on the trees.

After enough time had passed and the tide was heading out, we decided we had better start moving …

… and we hurried around another headland …

… and were grateful for a stretch of flat sand.

We continued around the headland …

… and finally Yellowbanks, our destination for the day, came into view.

But getting there while remaining dry still required a bit of effort.

It was easy to locate the short steep routes up to the campsites situated on the bluff. Over the years other backpackers have gathered a wide variety of floats to decorate nearby trees.

Industrious beachcombers have collected a wide array of materials to “furnish” campsites (including a disreputable-looking hammock). We did not stay in this site. Rather, we chose a site situated within the trees and protected from the wind.

The beautiful sunset was a fitting end to the day.

The next morning, we again headed out …

… and through the slippery rocks.

We needed water and this sight indicated a robust creek.

It is common for creek water along the coast to be stained with tannin from all the evergreen trees.

While it looks like weak tea, it typically has no noticeable flavor. We were not picky, as Ozette River water was now our standard of comparison for bad water, and this was much better tasting than that!

Something we both love about backpacking is when you can look back and see how far away you were not that long ago. It provides such a sense of accomplishment.

Once again, after seeing the target …

… we headed up the steep route over a headland …

… and back down the other side. Every rope we encountered had a different “personality.” Some were thick and some were thin. Some were made from a long single piece, and others had been tied together. Some had helpful knots and others were difficult to grip. Some looked young and strong and up to the task and others, not so much. Some lived suspended in the air and others lay in the mud until the next hiker picked them up. I would have thought the Park Service would monitor them and haul in new ropes to replace worn-out ones as needed, but the vast majority of ropes appear to have been scavenged from the beach and look less than official. That said, I was grateful to whoever put them there, for I could not have done the trip without them.

After all the headlands, rocks and kelp it was sheer joy to have a long stretch of flat beach to walk on. We wanted to make it as far as Cape Johnson that day. It would make our last day shorter and make it easier for us to get around two critical headlands. We had another headland to get around first so we walked as fast as we could.

However, as the tide began to come in, we had no choice but to walk on the loose rock situated higher on the beach than the compacted sand that was now under water. It slowed our pace.

We started around this next jumble of rocks but could not see everything that lay ahead of us. It appeared the waves were already to the headland in the distance.

Our concern was if we continued past the jumble there would not be any high ground for us to retreat to if both our way forward and our way back were cut off by the incoming tide. Waiting until low tide was an option, but it would not occur until after dark, and we were disinclined to hike along the coast by headlamp; it was just too risky.

We quickly backtracked to a safe place to camp and discovered there were several established sites above the beach on a low bluff adjacent to a creek. However, stopping short of our goal would complicate the following day when we were to hike out so John again studied the map and the tide chart. He had done a great job researching this trip and familiarizing himself with the map and tide charts. The ranger who issued our permit was quite relieved and very appreciative he did not have to once again educate backpackers on basic science such as what a tide is.

We made good use of the “drying rack” in our camp to dry everything out.

It is depressing to see how much junk washes up on our beaches, but beachcombing is obviously a popular pastime for some. Previous inhabitants have obviously invested a great deal of time and energy gathering their “treasures” and hauling them back to furnish this camp.

A few areas along the coast apparently receive enough use that the Park Service has installed pit toilets. This one came complete with a view of the beach.

We had the area to ourselves apart from two deer who passed by our camp.

They were completely unafraid of us, and it is possible they are accustomed to being fed by people, but we proved to be a disappointment to them.

Once we set up camp we were provided with a period of unexpected leisure. John and his camera headed out to do some photography …

… during what photographers call the golden hour.

Our early stop for the day even gave us time to just take a walk on the beach together. What a treat to not be in a hurry.

We got a very early start the next morning …

… and resumed the “dance of the headlands” we had been doing for the past four days. We walked around those we could …

… and climbed over those we couldn’t.

Another beach, …

… another headland, …

… another beach, another headland.

When we encountered flat sand …

… we hiked as fast as we could.

When we encountered rocks …

… we went carefully.

The headland at Cape Johnson is quite wide.

We were feeling some time pressure so we hurried as best we could through the slippery rocks.

It was better once we got into dry rock, but it was still slow going.

We had been scrambling across rocks for quite some time, and I had been very careful to avoid slipping and falling. I breathed a little easier once we reached the dry rock. However, due to a momentary lapse in concentration I failed to pick up my right foot high enough, so I clipped a rock with my toe. I began to stumble forward and was unable to regain my balance in the jumble of rocks around me. I watched with horror as I fell forward and the rocks rushed toward my face. My face struck a rock just to the left of my left eye. John was ahead of me and didn’t see my fall, but he couldn’t help but hear my shouts of “Shit! Shit! Shit!” When he turned around, he could not fail to see the blood dripping from my downturned face. I soon developed a hematoma that felt as big as a golf ball but luckily, I never lost consciousness and we were able to stop the bleeding.

It took about ten minutes to patch me up enough so we could start moving again but it was ten minutes we could not really afford to lose. We were not completely around the headland, and the tide was coming in fast. Fortunately, I was steady on my feet and able to resume our fast pace. I shudder to think what would have happened had I not been able to get myself out. John would not have been able to drag me out of the rocks and there was no one else around who could have helped. I felt extremely grateful for not becoming fish food.

We got going again with an even greater sense of urgency as once around this headland we had one more obstacle, Hole in the Rock. If we didn’t get through it before high tide, we would be stuck (and we were almost out of food). It is rumored there is a way over it, but it sounded way worse than anything we had already encountered so we were disinclined to rely on it. It was such a relief when Hole in the Rock finally came into view, and the beach provided easy walking.

When we got to Hole in the Rock, we were able to time it with the waves and just managed to get through without getting soaked.

Once we were at the picnic area at Rialto Beach, we could stop and take a break to eat and drink, something we had not done for many hours. We also got a picture of my now somewhat reduced hematoma.

One of the first decisions we needed to make was whether to take me to the ER in Forks. We’ve been in ERs before and have a pretty good idea of how long we would probably have to wait and what would be done once I was seen. I’m a retired RN and know a thing or two about head injuries (as well as having had two concussions in the past), and I could instruct John on how to do neuro checks. I didn’t need a tetanus booster or stitches. Given how I felt at the time, I decided I didn’t want to go to the ER. I just wanted to go to our motorhome, take a shower, eat supper and go to bed.

We had left our motorhome in the Mora Campground, which did not have “hookups”; no power, water or sewer. Luckily, we were able to hitch a ride from the parking lot at Rialto Beach to the campground. However, once we got there, we were faced with some problems. First, we had forgotten to fill our fresh water, so showers were out. Then we discovered our fridge wasn’t on. Our solar panels were unable to do their job in the shady campground. The fridge can run on propane but still requires power from the battery to light it, and our coach battery was now dead from repeatedly trying to relight it. Therefore, we had a freezer full of water and mush. So, we left Mora and headed to La Push to stay in the RV part of Quileute Oceanside Resort which did have hookups. Later, a hot shower did wonders for my spirit.

Over the next few days, the hematoma morphed into a technicolor bruise. I had a mild headache, but my brain seemed as functional as it ever had. My pupils had always been “equal and reactive to light” so I felt like I had dodged a huge bullet. The worst part of the experience was going into town to the grocery. I tried to disguise my bruise with makeup, but I shouldn’t have bothered. Everyone who saw my shiner looked at me with pity and at John with scorn. I even told the grocery checker how it happened, but I am uncertain if she believed me. I suppose it seemed more plausible that I had been punched rather than backpacking at my age.

We had intended to do all the Olympic coast, but we still had the section between Third Beach, just south of La Push, and Oil City, a former site of petroleum extraction. After my fall, I initially didn’t want to do it. We had backpacked it before with our two boys and two of their friends.

However, after resting up I decided I did want to finish it. John started watching the weather for a favorable window and four days later we headed out again. We had already dropped our Jeep off at Oil City and we left our motorhome at Quileute Oceanside Resort. We started at the Third Beach Trailhead and walked down the easy wooded trail.

La Push has been a favorite destination in the past and a day hike on Third Beach has almost always been a part of the visit. I always admire the “hanging gardens” growing on the roots of upturned trees.

Third Beach is a lovely expanse of fine sand.

We made our way quickly down the beach toward our first headland …

… and the steep muddy route over it.

John decided walking beside the floppy ladder would be faster and it was. At least until he slipped in the mud.

I decided to go ahead and use the ladder.

Someone had tried to cut steps into the steep slope.

The height of the steps made me grateful for my long legs.

As before, when crossing a headland, we occasionally got a view of the ocean through the trees.

It had been a dry summer and the trail through the woods was in pretty good shape.

But I imagine in wet weather these boards serve an important function.

We were again amazed by the warm, dry weather as it was now mid-October.

We reached the other side of the headland …

… and made our way down to the beach on actual stairs.

But we were on the beach just a short distance …

… before we needed to cross another headland.

When I was confronted with this steep slope, I realized either my memory of this section of the coast was faulty or the route has significantly deteriorated in the preceding 20 years as I don’t remember needing to get our kids up or down anything this bad.

My impression of the Olympic coast is that once you get south of the Quileute River the ocean is calmer …

… as the coves seem more protected than those farther north.

The beaches can still be quite rocky in places …

… but there are proportionally more sections of broad, flat, sandy beaches.

When we encountered this creek, we decided it was a good place to stop for the night.

We made camp …

… and had dinner.

This was our last night camping out for the season as when this trip was over, we would head south for the winter. But if the Cosmos is willing, it will not be the last sunset we will ever see from our camp.

The next morning, we awoke to a not unexpected overcast sky.

It was as though fall had arrived overnight …

… and winter was not far behind as we headed out that morning.

Before long we crossed another headland …

… as well as some creeks.

It was interesting following a creek upstream to where we would ford it, because the tide was causing the creek to flow backwards.

We went overland about 1.5 miles through a lovely rain forest …

… and carefully made our way through …

… what sometimes seemed like an obstacle course …

… before dropping back down to the beach.

Once on the beach, we pushed ourselves onward, racing the incoming tide and the oncoming dusk. After crossing Mosquito Creek we looked for the trail that would take us across the last headland.

The next section of trail is about 3.5 miles long …

… and is a bit rough in places.

It had begun to rain …

… making everything muddy and slippery.

Once we were back on the beach, we made a concerted effort to get out before dark. However, the dark and the cold caught up with us, so we were forced to stop to put on more clothes and to get out our headlamps before hiking the rest of the way out in the chilly wet darkness. It was great to finally reach the parking lot and see our trusty Jeep waiting patiently for us.

This trip turned out to be more challenging than I thought it would be. But I love Washington’s rugged coast, so I am grateful for the time I got to spend there.

All photos from these trips are on Flickr.