Cure for Cabin Fever?

Here in our corner of western Washington the past month has provided rain, hail, rain, thunderstorms, rain, snow, showers, heavy showers, rain, lightning, rain, rainbows, snow and oh yes, more rain. Not that last week was any different, but weeks of wet weather had Mom, Dad, Nathan, Sam and Josiah* rarin’ to go pretty much ANYwhere outside our four walls. So we “saddled up” “Rocinante,” our semi-gallant vehicular steed, donned rain gear and headed about 45 minutes north to Olympic National Forest.

An “emerald paradise” located on the Olympic Peninsula in the northwest corner of Washington, the Olympic National Forest blankets the foothills of the Olympic Mountains and surrounds much of Olympic National Park. A magical environment of giant conifers, this area is home to world-record Sitka spruce, Douglas-fir, western hemlock and western red cedar; large hardwoods including bigleaf maple, red alder and black cottonwood. It also hosts a green understory of vine maple, ferns, wildflowers, mosses and liverworts and lots of rain. Over 140 inches of annual rain fall provides the needed moisture to grow this lush forest.

Today’s hiking destination is a five mile RT to Wolf Bar, a lumpy, green, wet spot of earth in the heart of Olympic National Forest. As in, temperate rain forest. In fact, the voice of water is omnipresent here—rivers, streams, waterfalls, seeping skies and dripping trees. It sings, whispers, rushes, sluices, slides, crashes, trips, cascades, murmurs, roars, plummets, burbles and purrs—a cacophony of wet. With more than 200 inches of annual precipitation, the word “dry” is a veritable stranger to the local lexicon. We think of it more as “sponge.”

Indeed, the word “squish” is an apt description for today’s adventure along the Quinault River. We leave the house in a light rain, waterproof gear in tow. We’ve hiked this trail before, but it was in June, not February. What a difference four months makes—especially in a rain forest. Not that we’re complaining, mind you. The fun thing about hiking in a rain forest is that it may be pouring above the trees but with a forest canopy as thick as a thatched roof, you don’t get that wet. That’s not exactly the same as staying toasty dry, but at least we’re not soaked---the canopy acts as “Mother Nature’s umbrella.” This is esp. fortuitous for folks like us who don’t seem to have the sense God gave a chicken to get in out of the rain!

Other than that, it’s a perfect day for hiking. Skirting the Quinault River on the trail to Wolf Bar, a grassy meadow beside the river that is now doubles as a precipitous runnel for mud. We don’t encounter another soul nor sole the entire day. It’s quiet, calm and solitary. (No one else is dumb enough to tackle this trail in wet weather.) Besides, we’re not about to let a little wind and rain put a damper on a day hike with Dad!

We cross a raging branch of the Amazon cleverly disguised as a “stream” and follow a bench above the river before dropping to meander along a green flood-plain above the river. The trail includes two more river and three stream crossings. “Oh, joy!”

At this time of year the usual crossings are impassable due to high water. “Oh, joy” again. We trek about a gazillion miles out of our way (well okay, maybe only a few hundred feet) to improvise a suitable crossing like Robin Williams in Viet Nam. “Hold on there, Pilgrim!” And hang on we do--scrambling over mossy boulders and downed logs as big as tractor tires. Oh sure, it sounds easy from in front of your computer screen. Just try it in person some time. Remember, it’s WET. Trees and boulders are slick as glass and log jams are notoriously unstable. Thankfully, no logs move, our balance would give Michelle Kwan a run for her money, and no one tumbles into the drink. (At least the bears are still hibernating.)

It’s late afternoon. We’re within howling distance of Wolf Bar. We can see it just past the fourth downed tree that’s as big as a semi. Conifers the size of Hoover Dam, an Atlantic Ocean of standing water, and enough slimy, gooey mud to qualify as prime Okefenokee real estate are all that separate us from our present site and our destination. (Now we know how Moses must’ve felt at the Red Sea.) Already wet and cold, we decide that this is one time “close” does indeed count and that “discretion is the better part of valor” (better late than never!). We tuck under a thick Douglas fir and break out the granola and trail mix.

Chomping our snacks, we look around. It’s secluded and peaceful here. Heaps of flannel-gray clouds pile up against the hills. Mist rises off the river like steam from a bowl. Waterfalls crash thru the valley. Fertile earth surrounds us, rich as a chocolate cake. We can’t escape the overwhelming sensation that we’ve just landed on Endor. We half-expect Ewoks to peek around the nearest red cedar. But afternoon’s ready for bed and we don’t want to get caught out on the trail after dark. We lead-foot it back to the trailhead (why does the return trip always take about half as long as the outbound trek?) and hightail it back to the “cabin.” Now, where did we stash those *dry* socks?

Story ID:	1834
Written by:	Kristine L. (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Only Here
Location:	WA USA
Year:	2007