I don't know where the Olympic Peninsula officially begins ... but it seemed this area was the logical southern end. The morning in Hoquiam dawned cloudy and cool. We decided (out of laziness) to give our nearby restaurant another chance. It's hard to screw up breakfast, we figured.

We picked up the trail again ... 109 around Grays Harbor (and it was that) to Ocean City. Once there, we wished we had continued a bit further the previous day. This was a small, inviting, beachy area, even in the mist. We drove out toward the sand. It was cold, windy, deserted, desolate. A sign warned of the rip currents; and the smell! I don't think I've ever experienced more saturated, intense, thick salty/fishy sea air than here. I doubt you could've cut it with a chainsaw.

North through Copalis Beach, Pacific Beach and Moclips. Here I'd hoped the map was right and a thin line would take us back up to 101. Yes, there was the road ... but wait, what did that sign say? Bridge out ahead. So backwards we went. Round and about through Aloha and Humptulips ... and we rejoined 101. And almost immediately we entered the Olympic National Forest. The sign and the corridor of tall pines clued us in.

We took a detour to Quinalt, might as well visit the Lake Quinalt Lodge while we're here. It was drizzling (this was a rainforest, after all) and hard to see much of the lake. But the Lodge was great — another similar to old national park lodges. Cedar shingled; huge, comfortable, rustic interior. The grassy grounds in back sloped down to the lake. We hung out for a while, took a walk down to the water, then spent some time in the gift shop looking at books.

Back on 101 we were headed west again, to the ocean. It was time for another beach stop in Queets. Wow, wow ... the driftwood! We'd seen scattered large pieces in other areas, but nothing like this. I was excited. It was a challenge climbing and navigating through it. How did all these huge logs end up here? We would find the answer just up the coast ...

I was going a bit crazy ... where's a truck when you need it? But calm down, now. What could we carry home? We began finding medium-sized pieces — masterpieces that nature had formed. When we could hold no more, we climbed back to the car.

Just a few miles ahead, we stopped at Kalaloch. There was a nice lodge, with cabins along a hill above the ocean. A beautiful spot with tidepools, more great wood, and the sun was making its first appearance of the day — a wonderful confluence.

We walked along the rise above the beach. A poetic sign explained the Drift Logs, not mere wood were they:

There was also a warning that the logs could move at high tide, people had been killed by them. I found them harmless and fascinating, amazing sculptures. The light had taken on that sheer luminous quality that's hard to describe. I've seen it mostly (and maybe exclusively) around water ... (Nova Scotia's Minas Basin and Lake Powell come to mind), though each had a unique feel. A stunning area, I spent quite a while photographing and just enjoying the wonder and solitude.

Not long after we left Kalaloch, we saw a sign: Big Cedar So we turned, and at the end of a short dirt road, indeed it was. A Big Cedar.

101 turned east away from the coast and the weather began to deteriorate again ... such changes in short distances. As we arrived in Forks, the rain was coming down steadily. Time for a shake-and-fries lunch while we decided which way next.

Well, it was sunny at the coast ... that's more than enough reason to take a side trip west to La Push, an Indian fishing village 17 miles away. And as we'd come to count on, the weather did clear the closer we got to the ocean. We came upon an unusual place. La Push was the ancestral land of the Quileute Indians. There was a marina with several fishing boats, a couple small stores, some modest homes and not much more ... except, just offshore: the seastacks were everywhere! In Oregon we'd seen haystacks ... Washington's answer was its seastacks. The difference I noticed between them: these monoliths had trees and other plant life growing on them.

One of the larger seastacks was James Island, home of an ancient village ... I believe that's the wide monolith in the picture below. People were going about their business around town as if there was nothing unusual about the beautiful shore and seascape ...