Rialto Beach and Huricane Ridge

I am calling tomorrow to try to get a reservation for my boat ride for whale watching and a visit to San Juan Islands.   I made a mistake, maybe. I took out my calendar and started to figure backwards from my South Dakota driveway reservations.   So many things to see and beautiful roads to drive down but then I remember back to all the things that Mitch and I started out on our "maybe" list.  We did make many of them and truthfully we knew we couldn't do it all.   So I decided to be glad for what I have been able to wander around and see and able to experience what I have. I will now remember that I have reasons to come back to the PNW another time.   Li's Seattle driveway will be ready by then and, I will be honest, I may drive around the wilderness by my self just fine but I much prefer the local knowledge of the "tourist" guides that live in these larger cities.  (A credit to the excellent guides of my past city adventures.)

So I need to finish up these last pictures from the Olympic National Park.  Tomorrow I don't drive far but there is that laundry pile to be taken care of and three dogs that need baths. The dog bedding is giving off the aroma of well seasoned, wet, sandy, beach dogs......


Rialto Beach is known for the size of its driftwood and its driftwood piles.  Each time I headed over to visit the beach the weather seemed different.   The first evening it was way to blustery from comfortable walking but did make dramatic sounds of crashing waves.

Stuart's morning was much brighter and warmer.

I think I saw a painting like this once depicting some of Dante's levels of Hell.

"It is fun to be "only dog" at the beach"  says Stuart. "Can those other dogs do this and look so regal?  Audrey better start practicing her "sit/stays" or she will never make it."

I wasn't expecting the beach to be so full of colorful stones......Stuart was fine with me picking through the treasures.   In the evening Audrey came back with me for another walk.  It was much more blustery and for the longest time Audrey seemed to think that if I was going to pick up something she needed to check it out to see if it was anything eatable.   Really, Audrey, you just had supper?

Two young women hikers making their way down the beach with packs fully loaded.

Two young men wading down the beach not far behind the women......

A lone hiker with two home made wind spinners sticking out of his pack. 

Where's Waldo?

And if you are lucky enough to have a dog that makes you walk down the entire length of the beach you find Ellen Creek and the tide pools.

And just like I had to explain Stuart about how dangerous "riptides" can be, I now had to explain what "Photo Bombing" someones photo means.... He claims he meant nothing by it.   

And back to Mora National Park Campground to walk around the camping loops and amoung the trees.

Killer logs temporarily asleep. If you watch closely you can see them breathing but so still until it is time to roll and crash some more.

And today after moving around to Heart of the Hills National Park Campground we all drove up to Hurricane Ridge to get some views of the mountains that make up the Olympic National Park.  The dogs can't walk on trails within the National Park but the weather was cool and they didn't have to stay in their kennels in the RV.   We gained some elevation as we drove.

Bambi's cousin Fred was lunching in the parking lot.

Mountains for Vickie.....

People of the mists.

Apparently Fred is not put off by the barking Spaniel in the front seat.  The car remained untouched by the wayward forest highwayman, though.

No lingering snow this year.

Fred's sister Susie, entertained the tourists as they walked past her lunch spot only a few feet from the hiking trail. She was not concerned.

Our quick drive through Port Angeles.

Here in Heart of the Hills there was a tremendous storm some thirty years ago that blew down 92 trees in the campground alone.  This is what "Blow Down" looks like.

Fortunately this is what regrowth of 30 plus years looks like.

 So I explain again to Stuart that he can't go in the ocean to swim without his leash on because of riptides.  He explains again to me that he is a dog and dogs don't understand stuff they can't see, sniff hear, chew on or experience directly.  He thinks that it is just another evil plot to keep him from swimming.   He doesn't really believe there are alligators all over Florida either.  

"How about the pond in Tennessee? Can I still swim there and be safe?" asks Stuart remembering past adventures fondly.