hiking in Washington

These past few days, much hiking has ensued, leaving me little time and energy for catching all my loyal readers up on the doings, so here’s a recap.

Friday we took a scenic drive all over the Kitsap Peninsula and hiked up to Staircase, which is in the Olympic foothills near Lake Cushman. (Right around 47.5° N and 123.5° W, if you’re following along on your map.) It was a glorious day and a relatively easy hike alongside a swift-moving mountain river. I believe the river is the Skokomish, although I could be wrong. After a mile or so along the trail, beyond the Staircase Rapids for which the hike is named, the river mellows out through a bit of bottomland area, where there were zillions of smooth river rocks

and some really tame deer. Neither these two babies nor their mother were at all concerned that we were nearby.

Beyond this point the trail narrows and climbs into an area called Beaver Burn, the site of a 1985 forest fire. Seventeen years later, you can still see the damage.

What surprised me most was the debris underfoot. Somehow I had expected the ground to be bare, or at least just normal woodsy ground, rather than the huge jumble of giant logs that it was. This was the edge of the burn, though, so it might have been different farther in. At this point we turned around and headed back.

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Saturday was another perfect weather day, and T & I took the ferry from Bremerton over to Seattle to meet up with his friend G to do an “easy” Cascades hike to Tinkham Peak. In reality, it was in the mountaineering/rockclimbling book as easy, which means it was a few notches above easy on the hiking scale. Part of the hike followed the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail, which puts it near 47.25° N and 121.5° W on the map, although the none of the lakes we saw on the hike are on the map I have.

We drove to a gate toward the end of a logging road, then walked a hot and dusty mile or so up the abandoned road to the Pacific Crest Trail. We crossed a small but swift stream after throwing a few rocks in for footing, and climbed for a bit more. Rounding the bend at the top of the waterfall above our stream crossing, we came upon snow and Mirror Lake (note to OSU people: not even a little bit of relation), which was still partially frozen — on the 6th of July.

The snow felt great after long, hot uphill trek. We rested a little while, then started across The Slope That Would Defeat Me.

Outside of the right-hand frame of this photo, above the snow, was a jumble of rocks like that seen across the snow. I traversed that with some trepidation, considering the steep slide down the mountain that would result if I fell. I made it along the big boulder in the center of the picture to the bottom of the nearly vertical slope that takes you to the upper right-hand side of the picture, where I got really shaky and uncertain and thus intelligently called the quits. My companions cheerfully escorted me back to the other side of the snow slide before continuing on at my insistence, leaving me with a Thermarest and the bug stuff and G’s shirt, since my Polarfleece was in T’s pack back up on TSTWDM. (I was already well set with a lighter, water, a sandwich, a chocolate bar, and an extra set of car keys, lest you think we’re complete idiots.) I climbed up on a rock and dug my heels into the snow against sliding, and literally cooled my heels until they returned. I freaked out a little bit, having stray thoughts about wildcats and bears, and how much they must love roast beef sandwiches, and from how far away would the scent of food attract them, anyway? Did I really remember the route back across the snow to get back to the trail, should it be necessary? Would an earthquake send me hurtling down the slope with all those loose rocks? After a while I settled down and started to enjoy the quiet and the view.

I could hear the roar of the waterfall and stream below, the cracking of the ice on the lake, the occasional fall of snow from the fir trees around me, hundreds of unusual (to me) birds that I never did see, the flurries of flies and mosquitos that wanted to feast on me, DEET aside, and of course the imaginary wanderings of critters larger than me. I dug a little hole in the snow to cool my sandwich and refrim my melted chocolate. The sun was hot and the snow was cold and all was right with the world for a while. I just sat and soaked it all in.

I was glad to hear the approach of my companions, though, about an hour ahead of schedule. Apparently I made a good choice of heel-cooling spots, as the top of the slope was scary and the ridge even scarier — this description from one used to this kind of hiking. After a bit of rest, we headed back down. I felt like I had conquered the mountain (even though I hadn’t), with only a few scratches and some hellacious bug bites (which are still itching four days later, thank you).

Rather than returning on the ferry, we drove around through Tacoma and across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Remember that one from high school physics, the bridge that oscillated and eventually broke apart? It looked like just a manini little bridge in those film loops, but let me tell you that the span it crosses is big, and it is awfully high up. The new bridge has a profound curve to it to prevent oscillation, but it’s still freaky to drive over it.

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Sunday was a day of relative rest and back to gray raininess. After a long sleep-in, we took a drive to a neglected state park called Shine, just on the other side of the Hood Canal Bridge. There were blue heron and rocks and shells galore, and only a few other people. I carried my hot tea and walked slowly through the rain, something I haven’t done in a long time.

Monday I dropped off film and we ran errands and did a little shopping. I called to check on the progress of my car, which they said would be ready that afternoon. T insisted on driving me, so we went yesterday afternoon to retrieve it, this time taking the ferry from Bainbridge Island over to Seattle. It feels good to have my car again.

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My hosts have been extremely gracious, and have gone above and beyond to make me feel welcome and at home. They are private people, so I don’t talk about them much, but their hospitality has made this trip just glorious so far. I have seen so many things that I wouldn’t have seen on my own, and have eaten so much good food, and have had such a great time just touring around and hanging out and playing with the little one. Their house is comfortable, and has a nice view of the Olympics when it’s clear.

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Today we went antiquing in the morning, and I found a huge old glass cookie jar for a bargain price. The afternoon was a hike to Stavis Bay, which is on the other side of the peninsula between Seabeck and Holly. I picked up some oyster shells there. We got a pizza at Seabeck Pizza on the way back, and man oh man was it good. Not quite Emilio’s, but close.

Tomorrow we’re going to poke around in Poulsbo, a nearby town with little shops and a famous bakery.

tranquility

Two gloriously sunny days sent us out into the wilderness this weekend; to Staircase in the Olympic foothills on Friday and up near Lost Lake in the Cascades yesterday. I’m still recovering from yesterday, which was a decidedly harder hike than Friday’s, so no pictures or details until maybe tomorrow. Both areas were beyond gorgeous, and certainly beyond the adequacy of my words to describe them.

Today we were back to rain and gray, but took a drive across the Hood Canal Bridge to a forgotten state park for a damp walk on a pebbly beach. Two huge pink and purple starfish were washed up on the beach, waiting for the tide to come back in and rescue them. Where were my cameras, you ask? Back at the house, of course.

This past week has been restorative.

O, Canada!

The trip started off a bit less than auspiciously. My original flight was cancelled due to mechanical problems with the plane, something I didn’t find out until I was ready to leave for the airport. They couldn’t help me on the phone, so we headed out to the airport. After some begging and waiting, they were able to book me on an Air Canada flight leaving at 2:30 a.m. The alternative was waiting until the next evening to take a nondirect flight. The upside of that would have been the free roundtrip tickets they were handing out for the inconvenience, but it would have meant delaying the start of my trip and having to say all of those goodbyes all over again. I wasn’t up for it, so opted to wait the seven hours.

The flight was typical with the usual long-distance flight complaints, the kicker being the delay in my luggage coming off the plane, causing me to miss the 11:40 shuttle to Victoria and to have to wait for the 1:40 shuttle. From then on, though, it has been quite nice. The ferry ride over was spectacular as it went through the islands to the north of Victoria, although the 60-some-degree weather made it a cold journey.

A nice young man from Toronto noticed my all-manual Ricoh camera as I was standing on the bow taking pictures and asked me to take a picture of him and his friend with his all-manual Pentax, since I “look like I know what I’m doing.” They had just finished their cross-country road trip from Toronto to Victoria, and we chatted for a while. I have to remember to ask Tara where they’ve been hiding all these nice Toronto boys…

And oh yes, happy Canada Day! Canada is 135 years old today. It didn’t even occur to me when I planned this trip that I would be in Canada for Canada Day, and I found myself in the midst of Canadian craziness. After checking into the Strathcona and taking a revival shower, I headed out to track down something to eat and experience some of the party in the streets.

I wandered down to the harbor and up and down a few of the back streets, stopping at a few stages of the Folk Fest, which Victoria is in the midst of. I ended up in a corner pub, which seem to be a dime a dozen here. My fish and chips were good, though, and I tried a peach cider, which was a little sweet but tasty nonetheless. I popped into a few shops and wandered down a few more streets, then decided I was just too cold and tired to wait outside for the fireworks.

I knew lying down would end up in nap-taking, and that it did. I woke up right before the fireworks started, and just opted to watch them from my room since I have a decent view.

The crazies are still out, parading up and down the streets and shouting “CA-NA-DAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” but I’m tired enough to sleep through it, so off I go.

attack!

Let me tell you, unequivocally, that you do not ever, ever want to be bitten by a centipede, even if you are not quite so sensitive to the toxin as I apparently am. I’ve spent the last two days learning all kinds of things about centipedes, up close and personal. The story goes like this:

Sunday evening I went out back to get the last load of laundry out of the dryer. It’s dark back there, and I couldn’t see much. Just as I got to the dryer, I felt a sharp pain on the toes of my right foot, much like I imagine a small nail being pounded through your toe would feel like. I said a few choice words and kicked out my foot, losing my shoe in the process. Balanced on my left foot, I said a few more choice words and wondered what the hell had bitten me. My first thought was that it was likely a centipede, although I didn’t hear the rustling scurry away that I’ve heard from centipedes before. For some dumb reason I somehow managed to get all the laundry out of the dryer, find my shoe, and make it halfway back to the back door before I realized that I really couldn’t walk all that well anymore. I must have been out there too long, or made some kind of noise, because Kevin (who, miracle of all miracles, was home at the time) popped his head out the door and asked if I needed help. I must have really worried the poor boy, because I was in the house and writhing on the living room floor before I knew it.

Kevin attempted triage, but I was having no touching of the foot, with fingers or with cotton soaked in peroxide or anything. I made him get a bowl and pour the peroxide over my foot into the bowl and then call the Ask-a-Nurse hotline that frankly isn’t so hot. They were clueless. In the meantime, my foot and ankle were beginning to swell, and numbness was working its way up my leg. When it hit the back of my knee, Kevin made the executive decision to haul me off to the emergency room and run through a few stoplights on the way.

The last time I was in the emergency room I was five years old and had my head x-rayed (no kidding), so you can understand how my fear of my leg falling off was battling with my fear of all things critical that involve doctors. I writhed and swore and filled out paperwork, then was placed in a wheelchair and rolled back to the triage room. The nurse poked around my sensitive toes for signs of what might have happened — remember that at this point I still didn’t know *what* the hell had bit me — and didn’t see anything other than a ballooning foot.

After a mercifully short wait in back in the waiting room, I was wheeled back to Dr. Lee, who is certainly younger than I am but very, very nice. Kevin showed him where the punctures are (between my second and third toes on my right foot) and told him what all we had done. He concluded that it was most likely a centipede bite, based on the punctures and my reaction, and that I was apparently pretty sensitive to the toxin. Dr. Lee started telling me in gory detail about how he was going to inject painkillers into the top of my foot before I cut him off and told him that he should just say that he’s going to do something to make it feel better and spare me the details, lest I pass out. So Kevin watched (with a promise to never recount to me) the two injections into the top of my foot, which I mercifully barely felt at that point. I sat for a bit, and after the doctor checked in to make sure that I was still alive and my leg still attached, sent a nurse in to give me a tetanus shot, just for kicks. Then I got to go home with my icepack.

I called my boss when I got home to tell him that there was no way I was coming in that next morning. I slept surprisingly well, considering, and spent yesterday napping, reading, and going through by out-of-control magazine piles. I managed to hobble as far as the bathroom and the living room couch, but had to call Amy to fetch my mail from the mailbox for me and let Kevin take care of dinner and the dishes.

Today I’m still swollen and hobbling, but have a wider range. I managed to make it across the street to work, and my foot is becoming less painful as the day wears on, although it’s still pretty numb overall.

I read up a bit on centipedes today. Most sites admit that the bites are pretty painful, but say that the pain goes away in a few hours for most people. Well, I am quite obviously not most people.