Lake Ozette

In the middle of winter, my partner and I decided that we wanted to go on a hiking trip. We have been working to be able to be more flexible on our overlanding trips and worked to equip the car better, so we thought this would be a great opportunity to take advantage of this and camp in our car somewhere. Given the time of year, we decided it would be a beautiful opportunity to visit the desert while it wasn’t so terribley hot. We began planning our trip, hoping to hit up Joshua Tree, Death Valley, and the Mojave national parks and natural areas. We planned to drive down the west coast, camping overnight in Oregon and California, before making it to the desert, and work remotely via satellite once we were there.

And then, the atmospheric river hit California. As the much needed rains fell, we realized that our travel plans were no longer tenable, and had to come up with a new plan that didn’t involve trying to camp in negative temperatures, or travel hundreds of miles across icy and dangerous roads.

This is how we came upon the idea to take our very first visit to the Olympics, and to do so in the off season. We opted to visit Lake Ozette and the Olympic coast.

The lake is located in a very remote area of the Olympic peninsula, requiring a great deal of meandering back roads to reach the turn, and then finally going up a long and winding road that floods during heavy rains to get to the campsites.

Upon arriving, it was already nearly dark. We found that there were only one or two other vehicles at the campsites. We occupied a site near the lake, and quickly unpacked and prepared our dinner, which we ate in the deepest of darks that only occurs in places with so few people.

We woke up, had a brief but incredibly tasty breakfast, and began our hike. As we walked through the campground, we were treated to a view of the stream that fed the lake. We went further, going into the coastal forest.

The forest hugged us on all sides as we made the multiple mile treck through it, our trekking changing between slippery boardwalks and rugged rooted out trail. I was constantly vigilant of my ankle, recovered and rehabilitated significaly but not yet healed. We kept trekking, watching our GPS carefully to be sure we had not somehow strayed off trail.

As we kept moving, we started to hear the ocean in the distance, followed by the distinctive smell of salty and cold that the Pacific is known for in Washington. Finally, we started to see ocean in between the trees, and we rushed forward in excitement. Finally, we ascended a small ridge, and saw the ocean below us. Before we could reach it, we would have to negotiate where the ocean had swept logs, trash, and other loose debris against the forest.

We moved slowly and carefully along the logs and other detritus, knowing full well that a bad fall would mean a long and painful hike back to the car, followed by a four hour drive back to medical care. Finally, we reached the ocean, and saw the coast spread out before us.

The coast was rocky, periodically slippery, and beautifully desolate. We opted to walk along it until we became tired, and then planned to head back. We walked along until we came upon Sand Point, which we managed to ascend with a minor scramble. The view from atop Sand Point was magnificent, you could see the point itself, as well as watch the coast stretch out in both directions, and observe the coastal forest from above.

The climb down from Sand Point proved more difficult with my ankle, but was managable. After descending, we took a brief break to eat some snacks, check in on our physical condition, and decide on our next move. The ocean spray mixed with the already damp weather was rendering our insulating clothing less effective, so we both donned our full rain gear, and I took out some chemical hand warmers to keep my hands comfortable. We took a few more photos, and opted to continue.

We felt proud of ourselvs as we walked along the coast. We periodically ran into other parties, though they all seemed to be backpackers, not day hikers like us. We passed each other mostly in silence, exchanging only the occasional hello, all of us seemingly taken by the violent beauty of the ocean crashing upon the rocks, and the desolate nature of the Pacific coast.

Crossing a rock outcropping, my fears were finally realized as I slipped and fell. I caught myself carefully. My ankle did not appear to be badly injured, but we both took it as a sign that we should turn back before I took another spill and a real injury. We moved back along the coast and back into the forest, even more carefully this time.

We made it back to the car safely, and celebrated our victory by a lovely meal and post-hike nap.

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Reflecting on this hike, I can see that part of the fulfillment I get from my adventures is not merely the physical exertion, but a sense of exploration. Exploration of the world, insofar as experiencing new places and terrain is personal exploration, but perhaps even more importantly exploration within. As I move through the world, encountering physical challenges that demand my attention and ability, I am able to somehow commune with myself, and understand who I am more deeply.

I believe there is a disconnect between who we think we are, who we are, and, quite frankly, if we are anything at all. I think hiking can be, for me, meditative in a fashion, by connecting me into the here and now more steadily, I can experience myself in a way I rarely otherwise do except through meditation.

More mundane adventures to come.