Washington Road Trip: Snoqualmie to Seattle

Enumclaw/Snoqualmie

I wake up thinking, yeah I definitely did too much yesterday. We sleep in the latest we have all week. I’m ready to be lazy and I’m still craving a view of Mount Rainier, and there’s a clear forecast until noon, so we decide to take the gondola from Crystal Mountain Resort. We arrive within minutes of it opening, and it’s just us and about a dozen or so snowboarders hanging around.

Have I ever mentioned I’m terrified of heights? Probably once or twice? The gondola is an enclosed glass cube with two bench seats, and I manage to stay pretty calm during our 2,400-ft vertical ascent. At the summit, we’re greeted by a view of Mount Rainier through some wispy cloud coverage. Victory! The wind is whipping our hair around and I am extremely sketched out by the lack of railings around the brick walkway, but we get our summit photos then boot-scoot-boogie over to the restaurant at the top of the mountain for breakfast. We’re seated at a window facing Mt. Rainier so I get to stare at it to my heart’s content as I have my coffee and BLT. I live in Illinois; I’m going to savor this moment.

Mount Rainier

With our first mission accomplished, we leave Enumclaw and drive for an hour towards Snoqualmie. I’m extremely excited for this part of our trip because I’ve been a massive fan of the David Lynch/Mark Frost-created TV show Twin Peaks since it first aired (I was in sixth grade and didn’t really know what I was watching but I was intrigued. I later binge-watched the series on VHS in high school, and multiple times since). First thing first, we go to Twede’s Diner (a.ka. The Double R) so I can order a damn fine cup of coffee, black as midnight on a moonless night, with a slice of cherry pie.

“This must be where pies go when they die!”

I have an internet-gleaned list of filming locations on my to-do list, so one by one, we check them off. Ronette’s bridge, check. The Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Station, now a rally driving school with a view of the Packard Sawmill, check. (The incredibly nice woman at the front entrance even let me sit at Lucy’s desk for a photo.) The Salish Lodge & Spa (a.k.a. The Great Northern Hotel) and Snoqualmie Falls, check. Oh Diane, I almost forgot, got to find out what kind of trees these are! They’re really something.

“I believe I was visited by a Giant last night…”

We are staying at a bed&breakfast in Snoqualmie for the night, and our room overlooks the river with a view of the forest and mountains. Also, there’s a gigantic boulder in our room, which feels appropriately Twin Peaksian (also doesn’t hurt that behind the boulder we have a private sauna room).

The Rock and Rose Room

Snoqualmie/Seattle

The b&b owners drop us off a hot breakfast in a wicker basket in the morning (this is probably the closest I’ll ever get to a MacDowell residency experience). We eat our French toast bake, breakfast sausage, and berries and cream while drinking in the last of the view. It’s the last full day of our trip (sobs) but I’d like to live here in this exact spot forever if someone can please fly our dog and cat over for me.

our view of the Middle Fork Snoqualmie River

The first task of the day is to return the van to the rental place. Goodbye, Kung Fu, you were a fantastic home for the past week. We take a Lyft to the Capitol Hill area of Seattle and drop our stuff off at our final Airbnb. I have one more pilgrimage I want to make; I want to visit the graves of Bruce Lee and Brandon Lee at Lake View Cemetery in the nearby-ish Volunteer Park. It’s gotten quite warm out, and I begin to get tired, sweaty, and grumpy. I kinda forgot until now that it’s summer. Whose idea was this? (Mine). Maybe we should quit (I shouldn’t quit, we’re almost there). My feet hurt and my back is sweaty. I’ve had a weird time managing my moods ever since I had covid. We reach the cemetery entrance and notice a steady stream of people headed in the same direction. The small crowd grows quiet and respectfully somber. From what I’ve read, Bruce Lee’s family chose Seattle as his resting place because it’s where he fell in love and spent the happiest years of his life. It’s moving to see and experience with strangers and fellow fans. I’m glad I didn’t give up just because my feet hurt.

For the rest of the day, Kurt and I take it easy sampling local beers, eating fresh poke, and topping everything off with a cocktail. My Gen X heart enjoys and appreciates Seattle. It gave us one of the best seasons of The Real World (“Kirrrraaa! I love you! It kills me!!! and you don’t even knowww!!!!”) Ironically, the first time I visited Seattle back in 2012 I was getting over whooping cough; hopefully someday I’ll come back here totally free of any sort of respiratory issues.

Final Thoughts:

  • Every part of Olympic National Park is so different and worth seeing. If you can, build time into your itinerary to get each kind of experience: the lakes and mountains, the Pacific Coast, the rain forests, etc.
  • If you plan to stay at the Kalaloch Campgrounds (and you should!), book as early as possible for the best chance of getting one of the cliffside sites with a direct view of the ocean.
  • The National Park webcams for spots like Hurricane Ridge are a handy way to check if visibility is good or not before trekking over.
  • I’ve also found the NPS Instagram and Twitter accounts helpful for updates on parking lot wait times, road closures, and weather events.
  • I upgraded my rain jacket a year ago and was definitely glad to have a good one for this trip. Along with rain pants, weather didn’t stop us from exploring.
  • We used the app Tide Alert to check for low tide/negative tide for the day we explored tide pools.

Washington Road Trip: from the Peninsula to Mount Rainier

Lake Quinault

The morning is drizzly with rain, surprise. We make breakfast at camp, then head to the Rain Forest Nature trail right by our site, a short 0.5-mile trail along Willaby Creek. I hadn’t looked up anything about the trail and am blown away by the view of the Gorge and the old-growth forest flanking it on both sides. It feels like we’ve stepped into an ancient world and I almost expect a pterodactyl to swoop through the sky. The trail winds along high above creek level with a wooden railing hugging you to the side of the mountain, and I’ll continue my habit of making hyper-specific Chicagoland references by saying that it made me think of Tropic World Asia at Brookfield Zoo. Even more surprisingly, we barely see anyone else out on the trail, a stark difference from the packed parking lot at Hoh the previous day. Since the trail is so short, we join the Quinault River Trail for a bit to get a little more time in at this beautiful spot.

Rain Forest Nature Trail

Kurt and I both love a scenic drive, so we embark on the Quinault Rain Forest Loop, a 31-mile route around the entire lake. It takes about 2 hours to complete due to gravel roads and stopping to see all the waterfalls. It is also popular with bicyclists, and we see quite a few out and about. Kurt and I make a few stops at trailheads to stretch our legs on some easy hikes, including the Maple Glade Trail, which ends up being one of Kurt’s favorites. The mile-long trail takes us through a grove of ancient towering maples; I am in awe of trees and their resilience to survive centuries of extreme elements. I’ve always felt that nature is more than a little but supernatural.

Maple Glade Trail

Back in the van, the road takes us into a thick forest surrounding us on both side. This area seems prime for elk sighting, so Kurt slows the Kung Fu to a crawl and we scour the trees with our eyes. Within minutes, we spot the backs of two female elk grazing deep into the woods. The forest eventually opens up into the Quinault River valley, with a peek of snowcapped mountains in the distance. If you’re planning a trip to Olympic National Park, I’d recommend setting aside a full day for exploring the Quinault area; it’s pretty magical.

Kung Fu and the Quinault River

Once we’ve finished the Loop Drive, we say a wistful goodbye to the Olympic Peninsula. Our next destination is Mount Rainier National Park, and we have a three-hour drive ahead of us to reach Packwood, where we’ve reserved an Airbnb for the night. I’m eager for my first shower in days and a chance to wash our dirty laundry. Fueled by gas station corn dogs, we forge on to Packwood.

Packwood/ Mount Rainier/ Enumclaw

I wake up in our A-frame cabin in Packwood as the early sunlight streams into the loft sleeping area. Waking up in a real bed feels pretty great, and Kurt and I both have a pile of freshly cleaned and folded camping clothes sitting atop our bags, ready for the second half of our trip. The cabin is my dream house—rustic and cozy with a wooden deck overlooking a babbling stream. We’d sat outside the previous night eating carryout pizza and drinking canned white wine while our clothes tumbled clean in the washing machine.

Packwood cabin

This day should be interesting; as we spent last night researching trails in Mt. Rainier using the cabin’s wifi, we learned that most of the park is currently closed due to late-season snowpack. Out of our planned stops, there are only a few trailheads we can access right now. We’ll figure it out as we go. But first, coffee and breakfast tacos.

“You know of the closures?” the Ranger asks us as we enter the National Park. Yep, we tell her, we’re headed to Silver Falls, one of the few accessible trails. She nods and offers us a park map.

The Silver Falls Trail is a 4-mile loop with 705 ft of elevation gain—a moderate hike that would’ve been no big deal for me a few months ago, but more challenging than all of the short, flat hikes we’ve been doing all week. I’ve been feeling better lately, so we pack up a daypack with water, snacks, and rain jackets, and set out.

Silver Falls

Silver Falls turns out to be a pretty large, roaring waterfall, and the trail leads us across the river via footbridge twice before ascending up the ridge, into the woods, then back down. It takes about two hours for us to finish and end up back at the van. Where to next? The nearby Grove of the Patriarchs (ancient four-stories-tall Douglas firs, hemlocks, and red cedars) is temporarily closed due to the bridge being washed out. Both the route to Paradise and the road past the Sunrise entrances are closed. We get into the van and take the road up the eastern side of the park, hoping to at least catch some good views of Mount Rainier, but a thick fog settles in. As the road winds up into higher elevations, snowbanks appear, then grow in size up to what looks like over six feet high. From what locals have told us, this is highly unusual for June.

Mount Rainier National Park

The road eventually deposits us on the north side of the park, not far from our reserved campsite. We pull over and check our phones for options. Kurt finds a recommendation for a good view of Mount Rainier, sixteen miles up a forestry road. I’m antsy to do something so I say yes, but once we’ve begun rambling our way up the potholed, washboard-riddled gravel road, my anxiety spikes. I get pretty extreme acrophobia on any steep trails or roads with sheer drop-offs (see my previous blogs from the Smoky Mountains, Iceland, the Grand Canyon, Alaska, Montana, New Mexico, basically everywhere). We’re a few miles from the top when we come around a corner and see that the road ahead is covered with snow for the remainder of the way. At this point, I pretty much have a panic attack and ask Kurt to take us back down. He has to turn the van around carefully on the narrow road while I squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s now raining steadily and visibility is poor. We decide to hit up another trail, the Snoquera Falls Loop. It’s 3.9 miles with 975 feet of elevation gain, similar to our early hike but a little steeper. This is going to be a lot for me but I can always quit, as I just proved. Normalize quitting all the time!

We’ve barely gotten into the forest before we spot a big cat poo; there are signs warning of cougars in the area. So that’s exciting. The trail starts heading uphill pretty quickly, giving us a view of the forest floor. The ground is wet but thankfully not slippery, as the trail is on the narrow side, hugging the side of the ridge. I start feeling not great—lightheaded, tired. We stand in the middle of the trail as I chow down two chocolate almond butter bars and a bottle of water. I focus on breathing. After a few minutes, I tell Kurt I’m OK to keep going. The trail continues to climb via switchback, and I take a few more breaks to catch my breath. Finally, we can hear the sound of water. The initial view of Snoquera Falls after coming around the rocky corner is pretty stunning. There’s also an incredible outward-facing view of the mountains through the mist. I’m relieved to have made it.

thumbs up for not dying!

The online trail guide says you can either cross the falls and continue on the loop or turn back and come down the way you came. I’m in no mood for a scramble over wet rocks, so we turn around. Thankfully, the downhill trip is much easier for me than the uphill.

We pull into the Silver Springs campgrounds (yes, I had Fleetwood Mac in my head the whole time), which are half-empty, a stark difference from the fully booked sites in Olympic. Our site is directly next to the rushing White River. It’s a gorgeous view but unfortunately, we don’t get to sit outside and enjoy it very much, as it’s gushing rain. Kurt and I sit inside the Kung Fu at the table and have an indoor dinner and cocktail hour. We even figure out a way to convert the table to a bed without having to open the doors (mostly consisting of me tucking myself into the front seat hugging the cushions until handing them back to Kurt to put back onto the opened wood platform. We spend our last night of van camping listening to the rain and the river.

Washington Road Trip: the Pacific Coast

Forks/ Beach 4/ Kalaloch Beach

I’m so excited for this day; we basically built our entire route around the only availability to stay in the Kalaloch Beach campgrounds (advice: book your ONP campsites as early as possible!). We get started on our day after having a quick breakfast of eggs and bacon prepared on the propane stove. The goal is to reach the Pacific coast early so we have plenty of time to make it to the beach just before low tide to see the tide pools.

On the way, we pass through the town of Forks, the setting of the Twilight books. I see a storefront or two full of Twilight merch and multiple Trump MAGA signs. For the Twihards out there, two versions of Bella’s truck (book version and movie version) are parked in front of the Forks visitors’ center.

Rain pelts us as we reach the coast. The first glimpses of the Pacific Ocean through the trees are slate gray, nearly indistinguishable from the cloudy skies. At the Kalaloch ranger station, the ranger on duty recommends either Ruby Beach or Beach 4 for tide pools, with the latter being less crowded, so we park at the Beach 4 trailhead and put on our rain jackets. 

Beach 4

There’s a mist hanging over the beach which makes the tall shoreline pines and rock formations look like distant ghosts. I love it. Moody misty ocean fog appeals to my Scandinavian side. Sunshine is overrated; gimme some melancholy atmosphere. Kurt and I walk across the rocky shore to join other visitors exploring the tide pools. I climb carefully over the barnacle-covered rocks, peering into entire ecosystems flourishing in hidden nooks of the rocks. It smells like saltwater, fish, and seaweed, and I wish I could somehow bottle it up and bring it home. As we explore and find starfish, crabs, and sea anemones, the light rain stops and the sun peeps out. I take off my rain jacket, then my fleece; it becomes a warm, bright day. I spot two bald eagles gliding slow and lazy by the tree line; one of them flies in low and it’s maybe the closest I’ve ever seen one in flight.

Tide pools

From Beach 4, we head down the road to Kalaloch Beach, where our campground is located. Our camper van associate told us this was her favorite camping spot, and upon arrival, I understand why. The outermost loop of sites look out onto a cliff with a panoramic view of the ocean. Below on the dog-friendly beach, people play with their dogs in the sand. From the campground, there’s a short inclined path straight to the beach. It deposits us onto the sand not far from the Tree of Life, or Tree Root Cave, a popular spot on Kalaloch. An ancient Sitka Spruce hangs between a gap in the cliff nearly in midair, its roots exposed after erosion washed the soil away, and somehow manages to continue thriving. It’s a living metaphor, a miracle of nature, an Instagram moment, all of the above. We watch a large family swarm around the cave, multiple kids dangling from the spruce’s exposed roots, and two adults climb up the trunk all the way into the branches as I wince (the Park system discourages visitors from hanging onto the delicate roots, given the tree’s fragility). The more I travel, the more I am struck by the difference in people who see the world as their personal property or jungle gym, vs. those who lead with respect and err on the side of preservation.

Tree of Life

It’s turned into a gorgeous sunny day, so Kurt and I bring our lunch down to the beach. We spend the afternoon walking along the water looking for sand dollars and wading shin-deep. There’s a few brave souls full-on swimming in the cold water. Further down the beach, the shore turns into what Kurt calls a mass crab graveyard, the sand covered in thousands of pieces of washed-up crab legs and shells. 

At sunset, we return to the beach to watch the sun disappear into the Pacific Ocean. A small crowd has gathered, some of them camped out on chairs. I’m grateful for the clear sky and the amazing view. I think about the other sunsets we watched earlier this year in two other National Parks, Petrified Forest and Grand Canyon, and reflect on how grateful I am to have accumulated these experiences. I just want to sit in this moment and enjoy it before it slips away as all moments do.

Kalaloch Beach

Washington Road Trip: Seattle to the Olympic Peninsula

Seattle

This trip arrived exactly when I needed it and when I wasn’t yet ready for it. I planned the trip—a drive through some of the National Parks of Washington—back in February, for the purpose of using the last of our 2020 airline credits.

Six weeks before our departure, my covid-free streak and my Wordle streak broke in the same week (SO RUDE). A few weeks after recovering, some of my symptoms boomeranged back—chest tightness, shortness of breath, light-headedness, and a lingering cough. So I’m a little grumpy and a lot concerned about my stamina on this trip, planned to be full of hiking and roughing it in a camper van. But I’m doing my best to roll with it, toting my meds along with me and doing regular self-check-ins on how I’m feeling.

On Saturday morning, Kurt and I kill some time doing touristy things at Pike Place Market and grab a breakfast of eggs with fried oysters and salmon, then it’s time to pick up the van. We’d love to bring our van from home, but in the interest of time, we found a place to rent a conversion van in Seattle. To our delight, our assigned camper van is a Ford Econoline nicknamed Kung Fu, custom-painted with a dragon on each side and two Koi fish swimming in a yin yang on one of the rear doors. There’s bench seating and a table that convert into a bed, and a kitchen area in the rear with a fridge, pump-operated sink, gray water storage, and a Propane grill. After a quick grocery run, it’s time to hit the road in the direction of Olympic National Park.

Sequim

We drive for a few hours in moderate rain until we cross the floating Hood Canal Bridge, officially entering the Peninsula. Our first campsite is at Sequim Bay State Park, an area known for elk turning up in peoples’ yards and a recent local political scandal involving their mayor’s vocal support of QAnon conspiracy theories (when our camper van rep told us to Google the Mayor, Kurt had hoped that the Mayor was a cat).

The campground is pretty, full of towering pine trees with a view of the bay visible through the foliage, but I’m feeling apprehensive about my first night camping while not feeling 100%. The upcoming forecast looks like a solid green mass of rain coming right at us. Kurt whips up a quick dinner of brats and green beans before the storm rolls in. After we eat, the storm still hasn’t arrived, so we walk down to the Bay and check out the view. I love the Pacific Northwest with its mix of mountains, water, coastal fog, and old-growth forests. We spot a group of seals hanging out not far from the pier. I relax a little; while I may not be myself these days, I need to remember to enjoy the little things.

Sequim Bay State Park

It gets dark out and the rain still never arrives, so we make our first campfire of the trip. I go to bed early, snuggled into the surprisingly comfortable converted bed with my book.

Port Angeles/Lake Crescent/Sol Duc

From Sequim, it’s on to Port Angeles; you may know this as the city in Twilight where Bella and her friends go for dress shopping and Italian dinner dates. We find a place called Lola’s Cafe and I am delighted to see a Filipino breakfast on the menu. I’m in heaven with my longanisa, spam, garlic rice, and giant coffee. We also get some donuts for the road from a place called Sasquatch Donuts. While walking off our breakfast, we wander over to the pier and get a brief glimpse through the fog of Canada across the Salish Sea. Kurt checks the webcam for Hurricane Ridge, one of our potential stops for the day. The visibility is close to zero, which makes going forty-five minutes out of our way to check out the mountain view a futile exercise.

Lucky for us, there’s tons of things to do instead, so we enter Olympic National Park and take a scenic drive around Lake Crescent. The hike to Marymere Falls is easy and family-friendly, which sounds good to my lungs, so we pack up a daypack and set out.

I immediately love this National Park. Every direction you turn in looks like a Bob Ross painting come to life. The early summer light that filters through the clouds and tree canopy makes everything look a little more magical. No wonder the vampires sparkle here! We make it to the viewing platform and feel the spray of the waterfall on our skin. Kurt was smart to buy those donuts and pack them into our daypack, so we choose a spot next to a babbling stream to enjoy them. My grumpiness is melting away; I love it here. I love hiking, even if I need to take it easy. We can stop for as many breaks as I need. I’ll figure out how to adapt.

Olympic National Park

There’s another waterfall nearby our reserved campsite, so we tackle that next, but as we pull into the trailhead parking lot the light drizzle has grown into heavy rain. We see a few hikers run to their vehicle in sopping wet jeans, the absolute worst. Kurt and I grab our rain pants from our bags to pair with our rain jackets. I also opt to take along a hiking pole in case the trail gets slippery. The Sol Duc Falls Trail is another easy 1.6 mile out-and-back, and judging from the parking lot, the rain has thinned out the usual crowds. We reach the falls quickly, and admire the view from the wood bridge straddling the dramatic drop-off. “This is serving Six Flags Splashwater Falls vibes,” I say to Kurt (and will say again roughly 1,000 times before the end of the trip).

We get back to the van and it’s still pouring rain. We could go to our campsite and sit in the rain, or we could go to the nearby hot springs resort (obviously a no-brainer). “You know what would be amazing in a camper van? A mud room,” I saw to Kurt as we attempt to hang up our wet rain jackets and rain pants somewhere they can air dry while not dripping all over the seats and bedding. We do a decent enough job, but this is the kind of trip where you must make peace with the fact that everything’s always going to be at least a little bit damp, from the blackout curtains to the comforter and pillows to your fleece jacket that you wear beneath your rain jacket. During the day there’s intermittent rain, and at night, condensation clings to everything inside the van.

The hot springs feel amazing. The resort consists of four pools—three of them naturally heated at temps ranging from 99 to 109 degrees, and one lap-sized pool filled with children apparently immune to freezing water. The resort is egalitarian compared to the bougie hot springs we visited near Taos earlier this year. Kids kick around in water wings in the 107-degree pool, and the concrete ground is covered with some sort of brown goopy mildew extremely slippery beneath wet feet. But still, it’s blissful to sit neck-deep in the sulphuric hot water, gazing at the misty mountain ridge in the distance; the steam feels soothing on my messed-up lungs. We strike up conversation with a woman sitting nearby who is visiting from Alaska, and have a pleasant conversation about Copper River and what it’s like to live somewhere where a bald eagle may drop a still-alive salmon into your backyard for dinner.

Back to camp and the rain has stopped, so we attempt to make a fire, but the wet wood slows down the process. After a meager little fire, we retire to the van to sleep amidst damp curtains and the sound of the Sol Duc River.

Sol Duc Falls