The forecast called for rain, but the sun was trying to peek out from between the clouds. I took my outdoor shower at
Zoe's Cabin, which was pretty glorious. I enjoyed looking out at the forest whilst the hot water streamed over me. I saw pretty much the same view of the forest from the shower that I saw from the bedroom, but somehow it was just so much more magical and "real" from the outdoors. I realize that sounds like an oxymoron, but the greatest truths are often paradoxes. ;)
The owner had told me to check the shower stall for a little frog who had been recently enjoying the shower area, but I didn't see him. Just to be safe, I stomped around a little in the shower area before turning on the hot water, in case he happened to be underneath the deck.
I brought it up with Colin how I'd love live in the country with one of these outdoor showers. My recent experiences, here and
in the Cowichan, had filled me with love for the experience.
We got into the truck and started driving to the day's hike destination:
Dungeness Spit, the longest natural sand spit in the United States, and one of the longest in the world! The spit was only 50-100m wide, and extended about 5.5 miles (~9km) into the Juan de Fuca Straight. Yep, that's right, we'd be walking right out into the ocean! Here's a photo of it from the Washington State Dept of Ecology:
The part that branches off to the right, curving back towards the mainland, is a protected ecological area (see orange area on the map below). The part that goes "straight" or branches to the "left" has the Lighthouse. Our hike from the 631-acre Dungeness Recreation Area (in brown on the map below) to the Lighthouse near the end of the spit and back would be about 11 miles (~18km) total. We walked mainly on the beach, shown in yellow on the map below. The elevation change was only about 130 ft (40m), which was all at the mainland-end. The spit itself was quite flat.
We stopped at a gas station on the way, and I overheard one guy talking to another, while filling up their pickup truck: "If I'm Samuel Jackson, and I'm like: 'Your movie sucks, and here is a suggestion make it not suck as much,'
then..." Sadly, I didn't hear what the result would be, but it really reminded me of my friend's blog
Your Movie is Bad and You Should Feel Bad.
We also bought some IPAs for later: the St Florian from
Silver City in Bremerton, Washington, and the ever-lovely
Port Townsend Hop Diggedy, which I had tried
the day before at
Doc's Marina Grill. I love how a person can buy beer at a gas station or grocery store in the States. Not so in Canada. :(
At the junction of Hwy 20 and Hwy 101, I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. There was the store to end all stores!
At first I only noticed the fat dude and a gigantic hamburger. But the more I looked, the more amazing it got. It just kept on giving!! A giant ice cream cone, a giant beer, some California Raisins, a gigantic mosquito(?), a totem pole painted blue, a green lizard in a blue jersey, and an eagle, with a "Trump: Make America Great Again" banner flying proudly over it all... Click on the image for more detail.
I had noticed that there were a lot more Trump signs here on the Olympic Peninsula than on Whidbey Island. Not only "Make America Great" but also "Trump: Keep America Safe." I had heard that he had
all the best plans to do both.
Just past the store of wonders, I saw the colorful cabooses of the
Pacific NW Cannabis Company. Maybe that explained the decor on the store?? ;)
We stopped at
Pane d'Amore in Sequim for a sourdough baguette, and a treat each: pain au chocolat for Colin, a raisin cinnamon bun for me. We spent a long time trying to figure out how to pronounce Sequim.
By the way, according to
historylink.org, "The name Sequim (pronounced Skwim) comes from a rather poor approximation of the [local First Nations] Klallam word for "hunting ground," although several published sources mistakenly claim that it is either the Indians' word for "quiet waters" or the traditional name for a local wild onion that supplemented their diet of clams, crabs and salmon."
Although we could have turned on Hooker Rd (just past the gigantic painted bra announcing "BRAS: free fittings"), we chose to turn up Kitchen-Dick Rd. Not sure about the demographics or history of this area... ;) What is that saying about "small things amusing small minds"? XD
Finally, we arrived at the Dungeness Spit Recreational Area. We passed several smaller parking lots on the way to the official trailhead. At the trailhead, there was a large parking lot, and several park volunteers. We learned that without a
Discover Pass, it would cost $3 for a group (up to 4 people) for a day pass for the park. It seemed well worth it. We dropped our envelope into the honor-system box, got slightly overwhelmed by the amount of signage and rules, got the lay of the land from a volunteer (who said almost no-one, including him, made it all the way to the Lighthouse), and used the nearby facilities (they would be the only ones available between the parking lot and the lighthouse on the other end).
By the way, it's a good idea to check the
tide chart before attempting this walk. Although the spit is never completely underwater, it can make the difference between a pleasantly strolling on a sandy beach, and clambering over unstable logs with giant waves crashing all around you. The volunteers at the trailhead told us that high tide was 7pm. It was 12:30pm, so we weren't worried.
Then, we set off! The volunteer had recommended the "Primitive Trail" on the way out, because we could see an area that was only open seasonally, then taking the main route on our return. Sounded like a good plan. Below shows the turnoff to the Primitive Trail. It was well-marked, and looked a LOT like the Vancouver BC rainforest.
We passed a lookout station with a free telescope, and pointed it at the Dungeness Lighthouse the end of the spit. Sadly, I did not take my "real" camera out of my pocket, but only attempted to take the view with my phone camera. So... yeah, no useable photos of that. >.<
We proceeded downhill to the beach. This was the only portion with any grade, and it wasn't very steep. On the way down, I got a neat shot of the spit stretching out ahead of us.
The path to the seasonal area was to the right, but we figured 11 miles of beach trail might be more than enough for one day, and went directly to the beach. A sign explained how the spit was formed. The sand comes from the waves, wind, and bluffs. I wondered whether it used to be bigger, and was shrinking annually, but the sign said that the spit was actually growing by 13 feet (4m) per year.
The bluffs in question were to our left, and the beach extended in that direction a little ways. We didn't go down that way, but headed out along the spit "into" the ocean.
Walking on the beach, we congratulated ourselves on our choice of hike: This was a great idea! The weather was overcast, but pleasant enough. Blue sky peeked out here and there. The beach was broad and smooth, and we felt very adventuresome.
A little ways down the beach, I giggled at the driftwood which bore a strong resemblance to the
crashed plane from LOST. Oh man, the first five episodes of that show were GOLD.
Getting closer to the "plane," I noticed that people had erected tiny cairns all over it. Were these for the 252 lost in the crash? ;) heehee. Actually, it was quite beautiful (click photo to enlarge).
At one point, we passed a beach ball, being tossed by the waves hitting the shore. There was no-one on the spit but us, at that point. Maybe it belonged to these ghost children...? (I seem to be in a mood today. lol.)
Actually, there were a number of plastic items floating around in the area. "New"
Garbage Island had its first inhabitant, nay, King.
Approaching the curve of the spit, I went up to the centre of the spit, which was at a slightly higher altitude, and got a good glimpse of the Lighthouse in the distance.
Looking back afforded me a nice view of the bluffs on the shore, and gave us a hint of how far we had walked so far.
A Navy plane had been doing fly-bys, but always a little too far out and a little too high for me to capture with my camera. I had asked for it to come closer, the next time, and right on cue, it appeared. I could even see the "Navy" decal on the tail.
It was here that we started getting some really good nature experiences. For starters, this
Great Blue Heron. Actually, I saw three.
I really impressed myself with the photos I caught of these
Sanderlings. Hurray for finally pulling my "real" camera out of my pocket!
A
Loon kept popping up, which surprised me, because I didn't know that Loons lived in saltwater. As I tried to get a good photo, these
Harlequin Ducks bobbed by, nonchalantly. I also saw a
Cormorant, but didn't get a photo.
There were more than seabirds to admire, however. I also found this magnificent kelp dragon...
And this dangerous-looking monster, head low to the ground, about to pounce...
And this yawning rhinoceros...
And this messed up squirrel creature...
Okok... REAL animals... ;) We saw wo tiny brilliant blue fish, dead on the beach. We wondered about their fate: a lovers' suicide pact? Did they get laid off from the cracker factory?
Near signpost #4, a murder of ravens flew off at our approach. No wait, it's a "murder of crows"... and an "unkindess" of ravens. Seriously. Look it up.
The ravens had been feasting on a seal carcass and some crab shells. The minute we got close, they took off.
This first crab seemed a little small... but this second one was huge! (Sorry, had to use my hand and foot for scale-- I didn't have banana with me.) I also saw the shell from a non-Dungeness crab.
Actually, the famously delicious Dungeness Crab was named after this spit! Although, I suppose it nearly missed being called Quimper Crab... In 1790, the Spanish arrived in this area, and the Spanish explorer Manuel Quimper named the bluff behind the spit "Puerto de Quimper," claiming the spit for Spain. Two years later, the British explorer George Vancouver named the mainland protected by the spit "New Dungeness" because resembled the Dover Channel in England.
Now, before all the Europeans arrived, the S'Kallam First Nations who lived in the area called the spit
Tsi-tsa-kwick. But I can't seem to find out what that meant.
In 1868, the long sandbar I mentioned previously as a "protected ecological area" was named "Graveyard Spit" by locals. The S'Kallam killed a group of Tsimshian, in revenge for a kidnapping, as the Tsimshian camped on the spit, on their way from Prince Rupert (BC) to Puallup (Washington) by canoe. According to historylink.org, after the S'Kallam moved on, the local people buried the Tsimshian on the spit. Of the group, only one young Tsimshian woman survived, with the help of the Lighthouse Keeper, who gave her shelter and protection after the massacre.
Even though the Tsimshian were in a canoe, it was not this incident that additionally gave that branch of the spit the nickname “Shipwreck Spit.” This spit was a common resting place for mariners to stop and rest, especially those coming from Vancouver Island and Puget Sound. The spit was rich with herbs, both seasonal and medicinal, clams, seals, and of course, crabs. Many vessels had run aground here over the years, because they could not see the sandbar well enough. We did see several boats, large and small, in the area. Fishing, clamming, and crabbing are all popular activities in the area.
Just past the ravens, Colin pointed to a log in the centre of the spit. "What is that?" He asked. I pulled out my camera and zoomed in: a
Peregrine Falcon! Just as I snapped my first shot of him, he took to flight, and gave me two great shots. :) According to the brochure I later picked up at the Lighthouse, this was a rare sighting in this area.
Of course, all along the way, there were many seagulls. We saw a congress of gulls in the water, fighting over an invisible meal, or perhaps over who would become the next King of New Garbage Island. One bird was a keen volunteer...
We saw very well-organized gulls lined up on the logs, and Colin set a big group of gulls on the beach into flight.
Approaching the Lighthouse was painful. It always appeared as if we were "almost there."
Finally we arrived. The path was marked with directional signs: "Welcome to Serenity," pointing towards the Lighthouse, and "Reality, 5 miles," pointing back the way we had come.
Just beyond the directional sign, was another sign explaining that the point past the Lighthouse was off-limits. It was confusing, because just past that sign, we could see that someone had built a fort out of driftwood.
We stopped and ate at the picnic table outside the Dungeness Lighthouse. The weather was still cooperating. A sign informed us that this was "the first light on the Straight of Juan de Fuca." Opened in 1857, it's either the oldest or second-oldest lighthouse in Washington (I've seen it billed as both).
After our lunch, we used the facilities and then toured the Lighthouse. Upon entering, there was a little table with rubber stamps on it. "Just like on the Camino!" I sighed happily. But here, I had no passport to stamp. I also picked up a brochure announcing that I could "
become a Lighthouse Keeper!" I put it in my pocket. There was also a fantastic bird brochure with all the local bird types and viewing frequencies.
On the main floor, there were many artifacts and posters about the area and the Lighthouse. The c. 1989 light was really small compared to the
lights at Fort Casey. But the c. 1913 light was much larger.
I learned that the "Light has been automated since 1975, and the last keeper was withdrawn in 1994. The U.S. Coastguard maintains the light and foghorns, and volunteers with the New Dungeness Light Station Association keep up the buildings and grounds and provide tours for visitors."
I liked how they included the local First Nations history and place names in the display. However, I noticed that one sign said that none of the massacred Tsimshian were buried on the spit, but "they were placed in their canoes and pushed out into the straight." It interested me to see the different perspectives and stories, told by the different stakeholders. I wondered which one was more accurate.
The sign also said that just after the 1969 massacre, 20 S'Kallam families refused to live on the Indian Reservation in Hood Canal, and survived on the spit from 1872-1874. They had to bring in drinking water by canoe.
This was especially interesting to me, in light of what the Lightkeeper told us: an abundant freshwater source existed on the spit, but nobody knew about it until 1930, when Shell Oil discovered it whilst drilling for oil deposits. An "artisanal" well was then established, and had been running steady since that time.
We told the Lightkeeper about the ravens and seal we had seen. She said it was a fairly common occurrence. She told us she had seen that same dead seal a day or two earlier, before the ravens got at it, and it already had a big chunk missing from its belly. We both figured that an orca had taken a chomp out of it, then not finished its meal for some reason. However, the Lightkeeper pointed out that it would not have been one of their resident orcas, since they only eat fish. I had recently read about this phenomenon of
orca "culture," where certain groups eat only fish, and others eat mammals like seals. They also have distinct "dialects."
The Lightkeeper showed us a large collection of "stuff" that had been found on the spit over the years. There were the remains of creatures, like shells and fossils, but of course also a LOT of human garbage. :p There were relics from the early years of colonialism in the area, some World War 2 flashlights and shell casings, and plenty of plastic toys from recent decades. One of the bigger collections was of marine detritus.
We were permitted to climb the Lighthouse Tower, where we were met by another Lightkeeper. Overhearing our conversation about "found items," he admitted to making the fort we saw at the entrance, and proudly pointed out his own personal "star find": a large round buoy.
We took in the view along the spit. The light keeper said all the local lighthouses were built in view of each other, to guide ships through the inlets. He pointed out the next nearest one, but I confess, I couldn't see it.
At the bottom left of the above photo, Shell Oil's Helipad remained intact, although it didn't look like it had been used in quite a while.
The inner circumference of the Lighthouse tower had little red signs telling the directions to nearby cities. I saw one for Vancouver Canada (69 miles/111 km) and one for Whidbey Island (16 miles/26km). I learned that the shortest distance to Vancouver Island is from this spit! Past the Lighthouse, I could see that the off-limits end of the spit simply consisted of grass.
From that vantage, I could also see a path down by where we first came in. We were told it was part of the Barry Dove Interpretive Tour. We were concerned about the time, and the increasingly worsening weather, so we headed back down to ground level, and only did the tail end of the Barry Dove Interpretive Tour on our way out.
We passed this beautiful Native American Medicine Wheel just outside the gate, but it was not mentioned as being part of the "tour." Instead, the tour listed the items erected by colonial powers, starting around the turn of the century.
There was pretty much nothing left of the Direction Finding (DF) Building, which was built in 1942 to house the radio room for WW2. A Watch Tower was also built to look for potential enemy ships during WW2, but only concrete footings remained.
Perhaps because we had been visiting so many WW2 fortifications on this trip, I found the older remains much more interesting. The little white Transformer Building in the photo below was not a storage facility for
robots (sorry to disappoint!), but actually where the Lighthouse's electrical equipment and power cable was housed, starting in 1930. In modern times, it housed a backup generator, since the main power came via cable from the mainland.
The concrete platform on the left of the photo above was all that remained of the 1908 Oil & Coal House. It stored... guess what?... for the Fog Signal. The Fog Signal was built in 1906, to replace the c. 1874 Steam Whistle, which in turn replaced the c. 1855 Fog Bell.
Why all these replacements, you ask? Well, unfortunately, the original large 1100 lb (500 kg) Fog Bell was not always effective, and ships ended up on "Shipwreck Spit" after being unable to hear it. So a 12-inch coal fired whistle replaced it in 1874.
Unfortunately, this whistle required a lot of fresh water and coal to operate, and if you recall, the freshwater source had not yet been discovered on the spit. Therefore, two 6-inch air sirens replaced the Steam Whistle in 1906. In 1940, diaphones were installed, but they were replaced by electric foghorns in 1978. By 2005, all of these sirens and foghorns had become obsolete, and they were all dismantled.
Although fascinated by these historical learnings, glancing at our clocks, we realized it was 3:30pm. The time had just flown by! As our feet hit the beach, it started to rain... and gust wind pretty hard... and the tide had somehow risen 5 feet in 30mins! With no more hard-packed sand to walk on, we would have to tread on the loose stones and softer sand near the driftwood.
Huge waves crashed on shore. As we walked, the tide rose more and more. We retreated to the dirftwood in some areas, because the beach became impassable.
The ravens were still there, trying to get their meal, and again they dodged out of sight when we arrived.
We walked quickly and silence. I was glad to have my hoodie to cover my head, and pockets to stuff my hands into, but really wished I had brought my rain jacket.
By the time we encountered this pleasant-looking log, we were wet and sullen.
Colin forged ahead steadily, while I stopped to click photos as out shells, then jogged to catch up. Then Colin paused, and waited for me to catch up. He handed me a gorgeous Chiton mollusca shell that was being tossed about in the waves.
Briefly buoyed by Colin's find, soon the rain and wind wore me down again. We complained: Whose idea was this?!
Everyone else seemed have retreated to the safety their homes. We saw no one on the spit on the way back, until we met the mainland, where a handful of hardy souls balanced their way around on the driftwood.
Leaving the beach, we took the main trail back through the forest. The trees actually offered some protection from the rain.
By time we got back to the trailhead at 5pm, we were like drowned rats. This area was renowned for sunny weather, getting an average 16 inches of rain per year. I think we got it all that day. ;p
Our truck was indeed, the last one in the parking lot. Apparently, all the other fools left long before us.
On the way back to the bnb, we stopped at--where else?-- a Shell gas station for a hot chocolate and beef jerky, which, it turns out, don't go that well together. ;p
Back at the cabin, we huddled under a blanket watching Netflix and drinking the IPA we had bought that morning. Sleep soon found us.
