Olympic National Park’s vistas, flora and fauna make it a treasure.
The beginning of our drive up to Hurricane Ridge was hardly auspicious. A dense, gray mist of almost-whiteout proportions hugged the narrow, winding road and we crawled forward cautiously, concentrating more on what we were doing than where we were.
It certainly did not bode well for a chance to gaze upon the panorama of snow-capped peaks that makes Olympic National Park in Washington such a popular treasure.
But that pessimism lifted with the fog as we climbed higher out of the valley, each curve to the left offering a tantalizing glimpse, until we broke through the clouds and there they were — an unbroken parade of 6,000-foot-plus mountains, their steep flanks turning emerald green in the sunlight, their snow-flecked summits decked in dramatic broken clouds.
Olympic National Park is one of the top 10 most-visited parks in the national system, and the view from Hurricane Ridge is clearly one of the reasons. The large parking lot at the visitor’s center was packed with cars and buses disgorging hundreds of smartphone and selfie-stick-wielding travelers who appeared more enchanted by the black-tailed deer foraging nonchalantly in the alpine meadow than by the mountains.
Hurricane Ridge is just one of the varied splendors of the park, most of which can be enjoyed in relative isolation. There are no roads cutting through the heart of it, so hiking and backpacking is how most people get to experience it. There are two temperate rain forests, one in the Hoh River Valley and the other in the Quinault River Valley. The only way to see Mount Olympus, the park’s 7,980-foot namesake peak, up close is to walk to it.
Not all the hikes are strenuous or require overnight camping. There is ample opportunity to wander quietly along trails through the huge moss and fern covered stands of Douglas fir, Sitka spruce, Western red cedar and hemlock — the predominant species of the rain forest — without the need for anything more than a good sturdy walking stick and a water bottle.
And talking of water, it is perhaps axiomatic to point out that in a temperate rain forest there would be a lot of it. The park is crisscrossed with rivers carving their way from the glaciers on the peaks to the Pacific Ocean; it is dotted with glacial lakes; and the forests are alive with waterfalls, some accessible enough for a cool face-splash in the heat of the day.
Lake Quinault is the southwest gateway to the park and Port Angeles serves as the northern entrance and the park’s headquarters. The lake is owned by the Quinault Indian Nation and is a prime vacation destination in the area, offering boating, fishing and lovely views. The historic Lake Quinault Lodge, on the south shore, is the popular hub for accommodation on the lake, but there are numerous other options — including the much quieter Lochaerie Resort on the north shore, which offers a choice of six stand-alone vintage cabins, each with a captivating lake view.
Lochaerie was a pleasant surprise. Owned and operated by Chris and Tom Iverson, the resort is a welcome reprieve from the modern world. The self-catered cabins, perched in lush, forested gardens on the steep banks of Lake Quinault, have no phones and no television. Each is equipped with a wood-burning stove in the fireplace, a nice touch even in the middle of summer, when the overnight lows dip into the low 50s.
Perhaps the most famous — and thus the most popular — place to stay is the historic Kalaloch Lodge, the only substantial lodging on the 73mile stretch of Pacific Ocean beaches located within the park.
It is hard to decide exactly what thrills the heart more in Olympic National Park — the lush rain forests, the majestic peaks, the sparkling lakes or the beaches, which are wild, undeveloped and stunning. These are not beaches where you dig an umbrella into the sand and park yourself for the day with a frosty Corona (with a lime, please) and a good steamy novel.
On most days, you’re more likely to need a light sweater than a cooler. The ocean is cold, and on some there is no sand, just pebbles. But the views are magnificent, broken by dramatic rock formations, seastacks, headlands and seemingly endless sweeps of beach and sea that demand combing and strolling. Most of this coastal paradise, considered the wildest in the 48 contiguous states, is only accessible by foot. I fantasized about hefting a pack and taking off for a week or two. Maybe next time.
Fortunately for visitors on four wheels, a few beaches are easy to get to — Rialto Beach and Ruby Beach are two we stopped at — and they’re well worth a visit. They can be crowded on a warm summer day but are big enough that one can still feel alone. They are also good places to watch the nightly sunset show.
In a park full of big trees, there are some champions. Quinault bills itself as the “valley of the giants” and boasts of being the home to six champion conifers. Actually, that’s now five champions.
My wife and I tried to find the touted world’s largest Western red cedar, but doing so ended in frustration and a few frosty matrimonial moments. We learned later that a few weeks before our arrival the magnificent, 174-foot-tall tree had come crashing down in the rain forest. The park service had removed all signage and blocked the trail.
We found a way to reach this fallen giant and were stunned into silence by what we saw. The sheer force of its fall was obvious. Smaller trees in its path were snapped like match sticks. Sitting quietly on this massive heap of fallen wood, the damp air redolent of its scent, we contemplated the cycle of life and death measured over eons in rings of bark. On our last day in the forest, our hosts at Lochaerie and some local friends made a pilgrimage to offer a farewell toast. They’d lost a friend.
The rain forests, we were led to believe, also teem with wildlife, but we will have to pretty much take that on faith. We caught a glimpse of some Roosevelt elk cows and their offspring while on a hike in the Quinault Valley, spotted a few chipmunks, a bald eagle and an osprey or two, and the aforementioned black-tailed deer on Hurricane Ridge.
Unfortunately, the black bears, otters, cougars, coyotes, bobcats and beavers that are said to inhabit this paradise did not make their presence known to us on our many walks through the forest.
We did, however, spot one of the forest’s more colorful characters — the banana slug, and yes, they are big and slimy.
We took a photo.