I woke up after 8 hrs of sleep, blew my air mattress back up, and went back to bed since it was still dark outside. We got up at 8:30 AM. It seemed that we should have got up earlier so I wanted to get moving; we had a long drive. I require very little prep time once I’m up so I waited around a bit before Alan and I bid Brian good bye. Brian got up and went fly fishing that morning.
We spent the next couple hours driving. It still impressed me how different the scenery appeared from anything I’d seen before. The city of Aberdeem had a distinctly different feel. We bought gas and followed 101 toward Olympic National Park. Alan had mentioned that we would see clear cutting but the vastness of destruction along highway 101 truly disgust me. The loggers obviously don’t give a fuck because they rape the landscape directly alongside the highway often driven to the park. I would think they could at east leave some tree cover alongside the road to help masque the horrendous eye sore. The roadside often looked much like a war zone. The field was bare of live trees and wreaked of death. Smoldering tree stumps dot the landscape. Branches and limbs are strewn across the ground. Plumes of smoke whiff into the air from multiple smoldering remains. I felt sad when I’d spot large stumps of previously huge tree. It really seemed irresponsible to clear cut all the way to the mountain tops. I would have thought national forest might have been protected but we saw many clear cuts in the national forest. At least we saw a little more responsible, selective logging along the way.
Finally, we reached the park boundaries. Once inside the park, we neared the coast and began to glimpse the pacific coast. We pulled off at beach # 2. A quick tramp through the burly conifer forest unveiled a spectacular sight, the powerful pacific coast. A quick glance revealed that this coast didn’t take no shit. The dreary white sky added to the powerful, yet dismal atmosphere. I saw a barricade of timber below the steeply eroded dirt wall where some weathered conifers barely held on. We descended a ravine and stumbled across the timber barricade. A cobble slope led to the battlefield. A powerful, white surf attacked and counter attacked working hard to cover all that we could see with water. The surf shouldn’t be taken lightly.
We soon learned how shifty and sly the attacks could be. The water would recede over a hundred feet leaving an enticing, flat, damp, sandy plane. The enemy then instilled a false sense of security by lightly lapping the shore now over 100 feet out. Then when you’re least expecting it, a frothy white wave looms in the distance and swallows the entire black sandy shore grabbing at the cobbles spinning whatever loose timber it might find in dark, dirty waves. Such sudden, violent attacks intensified the feeling of unease and quickly taught you to respect the strength, power, and dreadful majesty of the Pacific.
The coastal scenery and atmosphere was spectacular. Alan and I cautiously explored the coast photographing the spectacular landscape dodging coastal sneak attacks. I snuck out 100 feet on the black battlefield during a lull in the fight for a quick picture. Later, Alan escaped the fast moving surf only because I quickly yelled “Water, Water!” as I saw a large wave quickly swallowing the dark sandy coast. Once warned, Alan barely had time to grab his dry box off the ground and sprint over driftwood to safety on the cobble slope.
Later, while photographing a seagull I spotted the enemy at work so I quickly jumped atop a large tree and spit my tongue out mocking the waves as they failed to reach me. I didn’t realize that the Pacific had been gaining ground with each attack so I tried the same tactic when the next wave loomed toward me. As it neared, I saw a doubly powerful wave about to strike. I wiped the smirk off my face as the wave splashed overtop the large tree and my jaw probably dropped when the log began to roll and the Pacific swallowed the 6’ of land in front of me. I grabbed the end of the stump and walked in place to stay atop the slightly spinning log as the water picked it up. Alan stared at me from 12’ away but I couldn’t get there now because what had been dry cobble was now 2’ underwater. I briefly floated atop the log until the water receded back into the ocean. My feet were soaked but at least I hadn’t fallen in and luckily my right hand still grasp my camera. I hopped off the log to wet black sand and cobbles.
You’d think I’d have figured out by now that the tide was coming in but I hadn’t. I placed my dry box on dry cobbles a few feet from the wet zone and took off down the coast to take pictures. Luckily, Alan moved it but even his placement soon became jeopardized. After photographing a little bit we started back and Alan broke out in a run. A large wave quickly approached our dry boxes and Alan couldn’t reach them in time. The wave came within inches sweeping away our dry boxes. Soon after, we read how the large knobby burls form on the tree trunks. The burls are the trees reaction to an outside irritation that puncture or damage the bark. To Mount St. Helens
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Our first glimpse of the Pacific shoreline.
Driftwood covered the beach as far as we could see.
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Smooth cobbles covered the shore below the timber.
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What a crazy beach!
Logs were flung and spun around in the dirty, black, waves.
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Alan photographing the beach atop the cobbles.
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I snuck out onto the black sand during a lull in the waves.
Alan photographed me riding a log during a surprise attack.
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Not to worry, I'm a skilled log rider :)
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A seagull perched atop a large stump.
Another seagull picture.
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The seagull, the stump, and the coast.
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Uh oh, here comes the water.
Waves smack the bottom of the seagull stump.
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Where'd all that water come from!
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Where'd all that water come from!
Alan photographing the dreary atmosphere atop the black beach.
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Alan kneels next to a large stump as a seagull flies by.
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