Filled the tank and the empty jerry cans. The fuel dock attendant is also the Harbor Master. Arranged to tie up at a slip for a couple of days. Luckily, we got a slip at the new dock; all the others are falling apart. They're made of wood instead of concrete.
We're on the fabled Olympic Peninsula, land of snow-capped mountains, forests, and water. We can't see the mountains from here, but we're surrounded by forests and water. La Push is at the confluence of the Quileute, Soleduck, and Dickey Rivers. It's the tribal home of the Quileute. There are perhaps sixty Quileute families here, mostly living in poverty. Their main sources of income are tourists and fish. There's a small grocery store, a post office, an RV park, a gift shop, and a small restaurant. The village also boasts an elementary school, a police car, and a vintage fire engine.
We strolled along the beach near the RV park. From there, the buoy that had appeared to be sitting on the beach when we were on the water now seemed to be at least a mile out.
The beach has huge piles of driftwood, stretching its entire length. Not little pieces of wood, but enormous trees, stumps, and branches. We shuddered, thinking of bumping into one of those things out on the ocean.
After lunch, we paddled across to James Island, which was named for the first white man to climb to the top of the hill. We found a long, steep staircase, nearly 500 feet straight up. There were old tracks that had been used to haul materials to the top of the hill when the foghorn and lights were being installed. Later, the tracks were abandoned and wooden steps were built over the ties. We had a terrific view from up there, but the periodic howl of the foghorn was nearly deafening.
Later, we Royaked up the various rivers. The Dickey was very pleasant, with dense forests on both sides. It looked much the way it did 200 years ago when Lewis and Clark paddled down it in their canoe. But we weren't able to go very far due to a logjam completely blocking the river.
The Quileute was wider, and the banks were more littered with human debris. We paddled up it a couple of miles and then came to shallow rapids. We could have walked over them, pulling our Royaks, but it was getting late, so we turned around.
We went over to the spit on the far side of the harbor. It's even more littered with driftwood than the beach we'd walked on earlier. Someone had constructed a little driftwood shelter. Inside it were driftwood tables and chairs. There were orderly arrangements of smooth rocks on the tables.
We started to paddle up the third river, but it soon became very narrow and turned into a swamp. It was eerily quiet in there--no birds, no animals, no fish, no turtles, no frogs. But a few zillion mosquitoes went for a ride on our Royaks. We returned to the harbor and got rid of the mosquitoes before going back to the boat.
It was a fun day, but I'm afraid paddling in the rain had a deleterious effect on Roy's cold. He's coughing a lot more, and I'm worried about his health.
No comments:
Post a Comment