I made my first trip up to the Olympic Coast recently. It was only for a day, to acquaint myself with the area energetically, spiritually, and physically, and I only made it to Kalaloch beaches and the rainforest around Lake Quinault. I was completely overcome by those places.
As I was driving north on Highway 101 in Kalaloch, I knew to keep an eye out for the beach access trails. I passed by a couple that looked busy and too steep for me to safely get down, and then came up to a pull out and what looked like a trail leading down the bluff. I got the immediate nudge to stop, and as I approached the trail the ocean came into view, foam rolling at the beach as the wind whipped at my face. And lo! the trail was short, and gentle, with a couple of easy steps – just what my body needed that day.
It was foggy as usual on the coast, but as I arrived the fog started blowing in thicker, until I was completely surrounded with but 20 feet of visibility. I love experiencing the beach in this way; the ‘darker’ side of the ocean, completely shrouded from everything around me, alone with myself and sea. I wrote this in a moment of divine bliss:
A beach, deserted
The fog blows in, obscuring everything
beyond this moment
The ocean hums the great sound of becoming
Waves beckoning, blessing
I would dive into the bliss of it, and never surface for air
On my drive back to Olympia, I decided to stop at Quinault Lake even though it was getting late in the day. I’m so glad I did. As I was driving along the North Shore Rd, I started to wonder if I should just turn back, and I stopped to look at my position on the map. Only a third of the way around the loop. Ok, I said to myself, let’s go just a bit further until I find a place to turn around.
Then just ahead, there was a pull off big enough to park in fully, without having to worry about turning around on the tiny dirt road. I pulled in and opening up before me was the most iconic of Olympic mountain views: jagged, forested mountain peaks with snow still sugar-coating the peaks, the river winding through the valley, trees framing the entire view. It was breathtakingly beautiful and there was no one else around.
A land spirit peeked out and I caught them just out of the corner of my eye before they scurried off again. Then I smelled that unmistakable musk that tells you you are not actually alone in the forest and heard some rustling in the woods. I decided that was my cue to leave, because as romantic as encountering wild animals in the woods sounds, the reality is much different.
On my return I stopped at the rainforest nature trail, thinking it would be a short easy walk to get to know the place a bit. I was not disappointed – so much raw, powerful beauty in a half mile stroll. Every where I looked, I was completely taken aback by the grandeur and awe of it.
I wrote this poem the following day, in honor of the forest and the beings that came out to welcome me.
Here Be Giants
Once there were giants
Not creatures of myth
– though they too are for another story –
But beings of earth and water and sky
They stood, gathered sentinels
Roots reaching as deep into the earth
As their trunks rose to the sky
They were the center of everything
entire ecosystems existing on every square inch
They helped make us, protected us
Their breath our breath
Reminding us of our role here:
Stay grounded, reach for the stars
Form communities, shelter each other
Be the union between earth and sky
But we forgot how to listen
Ignored the whispers in their branches
We felled the giants
Severed them from the earth
Severed ourselves from connection
The giants fell
And so then shall we
I will definitely have to plan a trip back, hopefully to go on retreat. I’m so grateful to the Place for welcoming me, and to the People of the Quinault whose ancestral lands these are.