After all my whining and moaning about how miserable I find the Seattle area (& I definitely do), I decided I might as well give the greater region a try. So I took a couple of days off to trek through the Olympic Peninsula. Thought I might at least do some exploring, something I’m actually good at.
When I told my boss I was going to Commune with Nature, she asked if I were going to camp.
Well, no—my idea of roughing it is a hotel with no bar. (So my current accommodation qualifies. Note to Self: I really shouldn’t stay at a hotel without a bar.)
Anyhow, I braved the dreaded Over Water experience (I am not what is known as a good sailor; my stomach was doing flip-flops on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier) and, using Port Angeles as my base, have spent three days looking around. I’m probably about a week or two too late for really gorgeous fall colors, but there definitely is some striking scenery regardless.
It’s a good thing I’d set my mind to not objecting to rain because pretty much all the Nature I’ve communed with has been squishingly soakingly wet.
As for the Peninsula: it’s not the Richmond-D.C. corridor, but it does have its charms.
I’m not talking about the utterly twee Victoriana of Port Townsend. But rather the actual, you know, Nature (squish and all).
I drove out to the westernmost point of the peninsula yesterday. Stopped at the Makah reservation and went through their museum and research center. Because the rain forest (part of Olympic National Park) had been recommended to me, I asked the fellow at the gift shop how that would be different from what I’d driven through to get there. He got a funny look on his face, hesitated, and then said, “Well, not much. Except the trees are old and there’s moss.”
In other words, no one’s clear-cut great swaths of the national reserve (yet), as they have chunks along US 101 and Washington 112. (You see these signs warning you of slide areas ahead. Pity they don’t append, “because greedy timber companies have razed huge chunks of forests, leaving the land vulnerable to washing away when it pisses down rain, which it does frequently in these parts”.)
Hoe Rainforest x2
Highway 101
I stopped at the 7 Cedars casino on Highway 101, just to see what an Indian casino was like.
It was way depressing. It’s quite the slick operation, but there are these banks of slots with dumpy, middle/old-aged zombies in front of them, pushing the play button over and over again like automata.
No levers to pull—evidently that would require too much effort. Also no coins to drop—apparently you buy a ticket and stick it into the machine somehow, and the slot cost gets deducted at each button push, as with a pre-paid phone card. (I bet someone’s done a study that says the easier you make it for people to keep the machines going, the less likely they are to tire and walk away.)
I imagine that in the unlikely event you win anything, that gets added to your ticket and you cash out at the cashiers’ area.
They even had slots embedded in the two bars.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I went to the tribal deli-smoke shop-gas station a few hundred yards down the road, because the sign said “wine and spirits”. I thought that might mean they had some ability to sell liquor without being a fascist state-owned concession. And I was right—don’t know the details, but they did have liquor scattered higgledy-piggledy amongst junk food and gourmet cheeses.
Just on general principles I bought a bottle of Crater Lake vodka and Bacardi Select. I don’t know whether they were cheaper than at the state-run stores, but I just had to do it.
The tribe also ran an art gallery; but everything I looked at was made by someone not in the Jamestown S’Klallam tribe. Dunno whether that means there aren’t any artists in the tribe, but it didn’t seem exactly kosher to me.
I’ve had a couple of good meals on this trip, and discovered Pinot Gris. I’ll head back tomorrow via Bainbridge Island and another ferry. Please God, let the crossing be smooth.
So—have I changed my mind about the Seattle area? Not really; not yet. But there is some serious beauty around here. I’m going to explore further.
When I told my boss I was going to Commune with Nature, she asked if I were going to camp.
Well, no—my idea of roughing it is a hotel with no bar. (So my current accommodation qualifies. Note to Self: I really shouldn’t stay at a hotel without a bar.)
Anyhow, I braved the dreaded Over Water experience (I am not what is known as a good sailor; my stomach was doing flip-flops on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier) and, using Port Angeles as my base, have spent three days looking around. I’m probably about a week or two too late for really gorgeous fall colors, but there definitely is some striking scenery regardless.
It’s a good thing I’d set my mind to not objecting to rain because pretty much all the Nature I’ve communed with has been squishingly soakingly wet.
As for the Peninsula: it’s not the Richmond-D.C. corridor, but it does have its charms.
I’m not talking about the utterly twee Victoriana of Port Townsend. But rather the actual, you know, Nature (squish and all).
I drove out to the westernmost point of the peninsula yesterday. Stopped at the Makah reservation and went through their museum and research center. Because the rain forest (part of Olympic National Park) had been recommended to me, I asked the fellow at the gift shop how that would be different from what I’d driven through to get there. He got a funny look on his face, hesitated, and then said, “Well, not much. Except the trees are old and there’s moss.”
In other words, no one’s clear-cut great swaths of the national reserve (yet), as they have chunks along US 101 and Washington 112. (You see these signs warning you of slide areas ahead. Pity they don’t append, “because greedy timber companies have razed huge chunks of forests, leaving the land vulnerable to washing away when it pisses down rain, which it does frequently in these parts”.)
On the road to Neah Bay, I saw a sign that kind of gave me pause:
I stopped on the way to the Hoe Rain Forest at a place called Forks, which rather grandiosely styles itself a city. My office mate had told me that Forks has a single stop light. Well, it has two now, and I managed to catch one of them red going in both directions through the town. (Population 3100 doesn’t qualify as a city in my book.)
It does have four espresso shacks (two of which are drive-thru), two Chinese restaurants and a Mexican joint. Plus the worst-ever “coffee shop”, operated by people who’d clearly voted for McCain. How bad, you ask? They served Diet Pepsi. In a can.
The rain forest was indeed impressive—I guess those trees qualify as old growth. They’re immensely tall, and definitely covered with moss. and ferns. And a lot of wetness. Actually, after a while it started to creep me out: 1300 and it felt like permanent twilight.
It does have four espresso shacks (two of which are drive-thru), two Chinese restaurants and a Mexican joint. Plus the worst-ever “coffee shop”, operated by people who’d clearly voted for McCain. How bad, you ask? They served Diet Pepsi. In a can.
The rain forest was indeed impressive—I guess those trees qualify as old growth. They’re immensely tall, and definitely covered with moss. and ferns. And a lot of wetness. Actually, after a while it started to creep me out: 1300 and it felt like permanent twilight.
Naturally it’s pretty much been chucking it down all throughout my trip. Although the sun did actually peek out at times today.
Highway 101
I stopped at the 7 Cedars casino on Highway 101, just to see what an Indian casino was like.
It was way depressing. It’s quite the slick operation, but there are these banks of slots with dumpy, middle/old-aged zombies in front of them, pushing the play button over and over again like automata.
No levers to pull—evidently that would require too much effort. Also no coins to drop—apparently you buy a ticket and stick it into the machine somehow, and the slot cost gets deducted at each button push, as with a pre-paid phone card. (I bet someone’s done a study that says the easier you make it for people to keep the machines going, the less likely they are to tire and walk away.)
I imagine that in the unlikely event you win anything, that gets added to your ticket and you cash out at the cashiers’ area.
They even had slots embedded in the two bars.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I went to the tribal deli-smoke shop-gas station a few hundred yards down the road, because the sign said “wine and spirits”. I thought that might mean they had some ability to sell liquor without being a fascist state-owned concession. And I was right—don’t know the details, but they did have liquor scattered higgledy-piggledy amongst junk food and gourmet cheeses.
Just on general principles I bought a bottle of Crater Lake vodka and Bacardi Select. I don’t know whether they were cheaper than at the state-run stores, but I just had to do it.
The tribe also ran an art gallery; but everything I looked at was made by someone not in the Jamestown S’Klallam tribe. Dunno whether that means there aren’t any artists in the tribe, but it didn’t seem exactly kosher to me.
I’ve had a couple of good meals on this trip, and discovered Pinot Gris. I’ll head back tomorrow via Bainbridge Island and another ferry. Please God, let the crossing be smooth.
So—have I changed my mind about the Seattle area? Not really; not yet. But there is some serious beauty around here. I’m going to explore further.
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