The Beauty Behind the Curtain

We arrived in the dark to Lake Quinault Lodge, unsure of much of what we might find in the daylight of the next morning. Sure, only, that we were still in the land of the very tall trees, their towering dark forms following us down the coast from Kalaloch, inland —a narrow, untraveled road winding between them.

By morning, the expected fog had settled into the valley, leaving us looking out upon nothing but white. The chairs on the sloping lawn beyond the dining room, arranged as if in a theatre, facing the curtain—a lake, unseen, beyond.
Certainly there must be some beauty here--some reason people are drawn to look out.
But what upon?

Breakfast passed.
Sweet Potato Pancakes with hazelnut butter,
Applewood chicken sausage
and Starbucks coffee.
Then a stroll down the hill to the water’s edge, the lake still waiting behind fog.

canoes and kayaks on the shore on a foggy morning
Lake Quinault

Wilson's Warbler gleaning insects from spider webs on shore

pretty purple at water's edge

rowboat in fog

In a green Old Town canoe much like ours at home, we paddled out across the glassy surface. Almost like a skater’s blade on an icy pond--effortless. In the quiet stillness of evergreen mountains, a loon's call through the mist from the opposite shore.
The curtain was lifting.

From every side we were surrounded, in dense hemlock, spruce and fir, some a thousand years old, the world's giants. Gravel arms reached out from hidden coves where small streams fed clean, clear water beneath us, before dropping deeply into the glacier-carved basin.
A blue sky, now, transparent above as the water below.

At the far end of the lake we came upon colored sands, of pumpkin, rust and deep red. Indeed, every thing that touched upon the water here, had been tinted in warm, glowing tones.

Iron (?) deposits on sand and stones near inlet of Quinault River

rust-colored sand bubbling on banks

Western Sandpiper feeding on sandy shore

And to the north, stands of Red Alder, like birch, their white bark bright in the evergreen woods.
A landscape painted in blues, dressed in lively shades of green.


We stopped for our lunch on a clean gravel bank, and pulled the canoe just far enough onto the shore to not lose it.
The faintest breeze, welcome.
The day now, warm, as we peeked out from under shady branches.


Then crossed the 2-mile width, back to the base of Quinault Lodge.
The chairs on the sloping lawn, full of spectators in this theatre of wild, natural beauty.

looking east toward Colonel Bob Wilderness

Lake Quinault from Hwy 101

sitting in the lap of the world's largest spruce tree
Lake Quinault, Washington

all photos click to enlarge

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Ocean

Such a place, is an ocean,

Late afternoon at Second Beach, Olympic National Park

Whose massive monuments,
Part minuscule grains of sand,

Second Beach, Olympic National Park

stones on sand

Ruby Beach, Olympic National Park, low tide

Where waves of unbridled strength carve stone,
Then gently lay shells upon it,

beach between Cape Alava and Sand Point, Olympic National Park

Ruby Beach, Olympic National Park

shells on sand

Where life for so many begins,
And the harshness of death is softened,

Second Beach, Olympic National Park

Ruby Beach, Olympic National Park

drift logs on sand

Sand Point, Olympic National Park

An expanse of unruly roughness,
Hides a single, smoothed round stone.

between Cape Alava and Sand Point, Olympic National Park

Such a place, is an ocean.

skipping stones on Ruby Beach

trail to Third Beach, Olympic National Park
sea stacks between trees

all photos click to enlarge

Tripping over Jellyfish

It’s a dangerous combination, intrigue in the natural world and the pursuit of something beautiful.
For, the more I explore, the more I find I must capture.

The simplest walk around the block, the most ordinary drive to the store can become an adventure, often taking me hours to complete and sometimes, leading me so far from my originally intended destination, that I trade in my plans for the day and slip into the world of the naturalist/photographer, once again.

Often, I’m alone in my adventuring—around the trails on our property and out to the local preserves.
It’s no one’s time but my own.
And I return, pleased to have found what I’m after.



But in journeying further, we adventure together.
And much is given in order that I may spend time.
A day’s drive consists of many stops.
Patient waiting.
Wondering.
Will we ever get where we’re going?



Last week, we took the Edmonds Kingston ferry from Seattle, across to the Olympic Peninsula. In the 62-mile drive from there to the Park’s entrance, we stopped for 60 photos.

Bright orange flowers scattered through the brown roadside grasses.
Trees with smooth red bark, that peeled to reveal silky green beneath.
And a very large pink Jellyfish--washed onto the pebble beach, and caught in lapping waves.


Intriguing.
And beautiful.
And found along the way.

California Poppies

pebble beach, Sequim

Pacific Madrone, Arbutus menziesii

Lion's Mane Jellyfish



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Waiting

Ruby Beach, low tide

At the edge of the shore, they congregate, in small basins carved over time by washing waves, capturing the last laps of water as it's pulled from the rocks at low tide--the communities within the rhythm of the sea.
Held here in tide pools, covered by only inches of clear ocean water, until the surf returns and they are, once again, hidden from view.
Waiting for its reviving freshness, safe within rocky walls.



The rugged shoreline of the Olympic Peninsula, with its towering sea stacks and tumbling sea stones scattered across broad sand and pebble beaches is 73 miles of protected wilderness. In many cases, reached only by hiking a narrow trail weaving its way through miles of dense evergreen woods, the shores are rimmed by weathered silver beach logs, piled high, just beyond the water’s high mark.
Here, the exposed tidal pools hold treasure.

Sea stars on rock
Ruby Beach, low tide

With each wave’s passing, the basins emerge.
Then, a slippery path from stone to stone, upon piles of lifeless seaweed.

Ruby Beach, low tide

Until the last foamy finger of cool water slips into gently rippled sand.
This is low tide. And we have been waiting.


At Clallum Bay on the northern shore, we walked out to Slip Point, its large pitted rocks, jutting from piles of smooth, brown sea stones.
The deepest blue of the ocean, bright, beyond a shadowed shore.

Sea stones at Slip Point, Clallum Bay

Gooseneck Barnacles, Slip Point

We found carved basins and hidden pockets beneath the rocks, filled with mussels and barnacles—
and more.

Tide Pool, Slip Point

Hermit crabs battled furiously in arm-to-arm combat, hurriedly retreating as my shadow darkened their pool. Tiny blue feet, barely betraying their presence here.
Their shelter, a small cast-off shell.

Blue Banded Hermit Crab, Pagurus samuelis
Slip Point

blue feet and red antennae

A Purple Sea Urchin and well-camouflaged Sculpin rested, motionless, in the next.

Purple Sea Urchin, Strongylocentrotus purpuratus

Tide Sculpin

And, peeking from beneath the shadow of a large rock, bright orange arms!

Ochre Star, Pisaster ochraceus, Slip Point

Dried seaweed on pebble beach, Slip Point

Ruby Beach, low tide

Further west at Ruby Beach, long, sloping sands surround sea stacks, remnants of the rocky headlands, eroded by the strong ocean waves. At low tide, the sides of these small islands are exposed.
Sea stars and closed anemone cover the surface, waiting for the water's return.


In a shallow sandy pool at my feet, open tentacles.
Translucent fingers feed.

Green Anemone, Anthopleura xanthogrammica
Ruby Beach

An entire wall of the wave beaten rock, encrusted by mussels and barnacles, again.
Their white mozaic shells against blue, striking in the late afternoon sun.
Fed by the action of the water as it surges past.

Goose Barnacles and Mussels
Ruby Beach

In this place, seemingly vacant, long shores without life, I have found it.
In colors a vivid contrast to the muted sands and sea.
Waiting for the tide to come in.

Gulls and Brown Pelicans
Ruby Beach, low tide

all photos click to enlarge


participating in Camera Critters