AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Not really, no more than an unwaxed zipper. My experience is that about the same amount of dust accumulates on the zipper, but with the wax, it sheds the dust off with a bit of the wax as you zip and unzip. But the wax does wear off, so you have to re-apply it. I do this with my bike chains (a liquid that dries to a wax) and they always look pristine -- but you have to re-apply more often. I thought about using the chain lube on the zipper, but it's too messy with the liquid. Don't tell my wife I stole her candle.

 

huh guess i should buy some bushigns for my SPCs. I doubt the X joints will last. Im sure they are just COM10T bearings or similar in spec with a rubber skirt. Would rather have something else with a joint you can replace or upgrade yourself. Not that there are a lot that run spherical bearings in the UCAs for 1st gens.

 

Yeah, as I noted, that's what I would have preferred as well. I feel a bit like I was misled/tricked into getting the new arms. The X-Axis are replaceable yourself, but they aren't cheap - I was told ~$150, but if I had to guess, I'd say they are $250. My hope (and I don't really know the science behind any of this) is that they are up out of the way of a lot of the grime and water, and that they pretty much only move in "one arc" so hopefully they will last a while. But, I'll be keeping a close eye on them.

Edit: Let's see some house progress pics.


--- --- --- --- ---

Here's the update I added to the original post, for anyone who's been following along, but didn't see it b/c they'd already read it previously:


Update October 17, 2022 (six weeks after install)

I originally posted this "upgrade" to the Tacoma about 5 weeks after installing the new SPC UCAs on my truck. When I did, the feedback was swift - many people with the new X-Axis based UCAs were having lots of trouble with them, and the X-Axis joints were lasting shorter periods of time than the previous SpecRide Polyurethane bushings had lasted me.

Here is a bit of the feedback I received (note, each comment links to the original for more context/replies):


The overwhelming negativity of the feedback concerned me, so I started up an email thread with SPC.

The response I got was not ideal (Note: I've removed names of SPC employees, as I understand that they are just doing their job.)

Shocked, I sent a follow-up email - what would be the first of many - and finally had a phone call with SPC, where I shared that:

The answer - perhaps to be expected - was that there was no way to "go back" since my original arms had been thrown away on receipt, and SPC only makes the new-style UCAs now. Not only that, but they are completely discontinuing the SpecRide bushings, so whatever is left in stock... is it.

Through all of this, they did say that they want to stand behind the new X-Axis joints, and that I should keep an eye on them over the next few years. If there's a problem, they (say they) will swap them out under warranty. That's a good thing (assuming it is true), but of course, part of the reason I made this switch in the first place was so that I'd have less maintenance over time. It appears that in reality, I'll have more.

I can't say that I'm happy with how this all worked out. Personally, I think I'd have preferred to buy a few of the (now discontinued) SpecRide bushing sets to keep on hand, replacing them as necessary over the next 5-10 years, rather than gambling on the longevity of the X-Axis joints. But, given that that is no longer an option, I'm going to be keeping a close eye on these, to ensure that if they fail, I'm able to catch it early and (hopefully) get them warrantied out.

/END UPDATE

 

WOW. This makes me feel great! Ive got 10k miles on my x-axis joint SPCs. Everything is working normally/correctly right now... I think... I just put 2 pumps of grease in. I dont have any play or squeaking from the font end... yet. However if my SPCs start to fail I will likely just go buy some Icon delta joint UCA's. Been pretty happy with their AAL/Leafs etc.

 

Wow glad I read this, was looking towards getting some newer UCA's that could help fix my camber. Based on your posts before this I was going to get the "older" SPC's then found the posts about the new X Axis ones and was going to wait for some Black Friday deals. But now I'll put this money towards Solo LCA's instead and keep my Total Chaos UCA's

 

Sorry to hear that Dan. Especially for such a high mileage vehicle, that sounds risky at best.

 

TW Caches pics on posts, until you edit the post it wont know a link changed

 

I should add one more bit here... Even though I don't really like what happend at this point in time, two things are certainly true:

1. I've not had the XAxis long enough to *really* know what the lifespan is like. Looking back, I don't think that 120K miles on the poly bushings was "normal" lifespan, as I think those are usually closer to 30-60K as well. So, I need to give the XAxis a chance. (It's just disappointing, given what I was initially led to believe.)
2. Even if I have to replace the XAxis arms completely every year, the cost (as a percentage of what I spend on exploring) is still negligible, so that shouldn't really bother me. What does bother me more is the maintenance. I wanted something that would require less wrench time. Maybe I should just go back to stock UCAs, hahaha!

Josh @BYJOSHCOOK - if you can find some of the older (used?) SPCs (and some bushings, maybe a few extra sets), I really did like mine. I wouldn't write that off completely at this point if you're looking for something to install.

a) interesting
b) are you sure? I mean, I know a lot about how the interwebs work and I don't know how TW could do that with my images, since they are hosted on flickr. I mean, I get it with "attached" images that are hosted on TW, but there's no way for TW to cache/serve the flickr images AFAIK.

A browser could cache them, obviously, but they seemed to persist (and still are in this comment) which makes me wonder if I actually deleted the photo from flickr. Or, perhaps more likely, flickr just hasn't deleted the "original versions" from their staticflickr CDNs... though they've seemed to delete them quickly for me when I've done similar edits in the past. Of course, I'm too lazy to go figure it out right now.

 

There are add-ons to the forum software that convert image tagged images to attachments. It's pretty shady if you ask me but I don't think TW uses them as when I reply to a post with images, the links are preserved. I get why some forum owners want to do that--when people move off of one sharing platform to another, the links are broken and the remaining content becomes useless.

 

Yeah, TW definitely does that with images hosted on certain domains, but they don't do it with Flickr; I had a big long thread with @tcBob and @jberry813 about it several years ago when I used to host all my images on OneDrive (and they were all "sucked in" to TW, which I didn't like).

 

Hiking Hurricane Ridge - Olympic Peninsula #1
Part of the Olympic Peninsula Passages (Sep 2022) trip.

In all of our exploration, we've done relatively little in our home state of Washington. Partly, this is because the weather window here is relatively short each year; partly, it's due to our desire to explore lands further afield; and partly it's due to the landscape.

Western Washington is so wet that finding a route that is more than simply a tunnel through trees can be challenging. Roads are quickly overrun with brush, structures rot away in the blink of an eye, and with much of the land owned or leased by logging companies - the roads are gated and locked, "for safety."

Still, I've always wondered if we could find something amazing in the far west of our state. There is - after all - an entire National Park, surrounded by a National Forest, on a peninsula larger than many states. And so, keen to satisfy our curiosity, we set our sights on an Olympic Traverse.

Unlike 98% of our trips, this one wasn't going to require 20 hours of driving just to reach our starting point. In fact, less than an hour after loading up in the Tacoma, we were aboard a ferry that would shuttle us across the Puget Sound and onto the Olympic Peninsula.

​

Unlike Inland Ferries in Canada - which I enjoy every time I experience them - these are most definitely not free.​

The MV Spokane was looking fine under mostly clear blue skies as it carried us from Edmonds to Kingston.​

As we sailed across the sound, we passed the MV Puyallup, and the Victoria Clipper speeding to the north.​

Disembarking just after 8:30am, we covered the last few miles of pavement before arriving at our entry to the loop that would be our Olympic Traverse. As with all well-laid plans, ours - to complete the loop in a counter-clockwise fashion, starting and ending in Quilcene - would soon be foiled, but for now, we dove into our first tree tunnel, eager for the road ahead.

Our route would take us along more than 750 miles of roads around the peninsula.​

The vast majority of that distance would become monotonous, as the tree tunnels seemed to never end.​

As we wound our way through the first 50 miles of trees, the landscape took an early toll on both of us. I wondered whether there'd be enough attractions along the way in order to keep us occupied, as @mrs.turbodb dozed in the passenger seat.

Eventually, a small break in the trees afforded us a still-partially-obstructed view.
(I had to stand on the tent just to get this photo.)​

Even elements that wouldn't normally have held our attention were welcome variety along the way.​

Despite the shady start, it wasn't all that long before we found ourselves at the Hurricane Ridge entrance to Olympic National Park where we picked up a new America the Beautiful Pass and began the long climb towards the tree line. We'd spend the entire rest of our day exploring the highest roads and trails of the trip, in an area which, for me, encompasses the best views that the peninsula has to offer.

Climbing up out of the trees, we finally got a taste of the Olympic Mountains.​

The only problem - if you could call it that - was our arrival time. I'd hoped that we would arrive later in the afternoon so that we could camp at Obstruction Point before going for an early morning hike along Lillian Ridge to kick off day two. However, as we pulled into the parking area on Hurricane Ridge, it wasn't yet 1:00pm; it was way too early for us to stop for the day!

After a quick discussion, we decided on our first - of many - adjustments to the plan. Rather than tackling the 5-mile hike along Lillian Ridge the following morning - when I'd hoped for cooler temperatures and light pouring in from the east - we'd hike the trail in the evening, capturing sunset along the way. Even then, we had several hours to burn, so we decided that a quick hike up Hurricane Hill - and then a mid-afternoon nap - would be a fabulous way to pass the time.

As we set out towards Hurricane Hill, the views couldn't have been more magnificent.​

Glaciers - receding quickly - still dot the upper reaches of the Olympic Range.​

At 3.5 miles roundtrip - a mere 2.5 miles longer than we'd expected - the Hurricane Hill hike is one of the more popular hikes in the area as it affords 360° views - of the Olympics as well as the Puget Sound - almost the entire time.

This trail is not one that can be called "remote," though we could tell that the 700 feet of elevation gain did take their toll on many of the hikers.​

Sticky cones of the subalpine fir.​

Gazing west, our views only improved as we gained elevation.​

As we reached the summit, Ediz Hook and Canada stretched out to the north.​

To the east, Mt. Angeles was significantly lower than the ridges to the east, but its proximity made it the most prominent peak around.​

"For information, write the director, Washington DC."​

This little guy - and a bunch of his buddies - were enjoying the afternoon just as we were.​

In no rush at all, we spent a while at 5700', admiring the landscape as it stretched up and down approximately the same distance. Even at this elevation, temperatures were over 80°F, and after soaking in the views we decided to head back the way we came. It was time to leave pavement behind and find a spot to open up the tent for an afternoon siesta.

If anything, the views on the way down were even better than they'd been on the way up.​

From the Hurricane Ridge Visitors Center, we headed out the road to Obstruction Point.​

Majestically glorious views.​

It was just after 3:30pm when we found ourselves in the Obstruction Point parking area at the trailhead for Lillian Ridge. With sunset slated for a little after 7:30pm, we had a few hours before blast-off, so I setup the tent and we climbed up for a little reading, shut-eye, and shade as various folks came and went from this relatively popular trailhead.

I think I was more relaxed than @mrs.turbodb during this process, and at 6:15pm she poked me awake, wondering if it was time for us to go. I still thought it was a bit early - thinking it wouldn't take us all that long to do a five-mile roundtrip hike, if we wanted to catch sunset along the way - but after a few minutes we climbed down out of the tent. After gathering up our headlamps, water, and our plethora of electronics, we headed up onto the ridge and into the Olympics - a warm evening hue lighting the way.

Onto the ridge.​

Almost immediately we ran into a family of grouse poking around in the tall grass. Stand still, grouse!​

For the most part, the first three-quarters of the out-and-back trail was easy going. Mostly uphill, the trail gained 1,700 feet over its length, but nothing seemed overly difficult and of course the scenery was second to none. Towering ridges, distant lakes, and long shadows were everywhere, the sun orange as it streamed through a hazy sky to the west.

Layers of ridgeline, all of them, roadless.​

Just below the ridge, our trail passed through green, brown, and even a little white as we climbed higher into the wonderland.​

Below us, lakes - best viewed from afar due to the millions of mosquitoes - sparkled like jewels.​

Scarce amounts of snow, even on the northern faces.​

Even as the sun was still reasonably high, a hazy orange hue on the horizon backstopped the smokey blue landscape.​

As the minutes ticked by, we pushed on, the temperatures getting more and more pleasant as the evening progressed. I didn't know it at the time, but @mrs.turbodb was really worried about the hike back. Having talked about seeing sunset on the trail - and having packed our headlamps - it seemed obvious and by design to me that we'd be heading back in the dark. To her though, finding our way along the trail - navigating the undulating terrain - was not high on the list of "fun."

She can see what we cannot. Until...​

Splendor.​

Headed to the large patch of snow in the distance.​

Eventually, as we climbed through some steeper, rockier, and all-around sketchier stretches of trail, we began to have a discussion about just how far we intended to go. With only a few minutes until sunset, we'd clearly be reaching the high point of the ridge after the flaming ball moved below the horizon, and with a narrow scree trail between us and that point, @mrs.turbodb wasn't sure that was such a good idea.

In the end, as much as I wished we'd reach the high point of the trail, I realized that the trade-off of forcing us to push onward wasn't going to be worth it. Instead - to enjoy these last few minutes of light as much as we could - we made our way to a rocky point that afforded us 360° views that were probably just as good as any we'd see.

Shadows were quickly creeping up the hillsides as the sun neared the horizon.​

The sky behind Mt. Olympus seemed to catch fire before our eyes.​

Won't be long now!​

Subalpine fir, dripping into the night.​

Turning around, we began to retrace our steps - the light seeming to change more quickly with each passing moment. We'd entered the magic hour - that time when shadows no longer cover the land, and the sky puts on a show of its own. As one of us pushed to move quickly before dark, the other slowed down to snap photos.

Frankly, it was a recipe for disaster.

Looking back as we retreated from our goal.​

To the south, the new moon wasn't far behind the sun as it raced towards the western horizon.​

Setting into a sunset.​

Having hiked for nearly two hours at this point, the last of the light faded from the sky during our 90-minute trek back to the Tacoma. Eventually, as even the ambient light wasn't enough to illuminate the trail, our headlamps came out, ushering us the final half-mile or so.

Past green grass and snow drifts.​

Under a stary sky.​

After a couple - what turned out to be fantastic - experiments with long exposures, the frustrations we'd both felt along this hike boiled over. Each of us felt that we hadn't got what we wanted, and as happens sometimes, the situation overheated.

And with that, we were done with the trip. Our week in the Olympic Peninsula cut short to a single day, it was time to head home.

​

Of course - despite the unfortunate events on the trail and the ensuing battle on the long drive home - we'd eventually work through the frustrations and find ourselves wondering what we'd left behind.

Surely there was more worth seeing, and so a few days later we set out again. Back to complete our traverse through the Olympic Peninsula's Passages.

 

Did not see that coming...

I worked for a company with offices on Pike Street and I'd always wanted to rent a car for the Olympics. But given the startup nature, my time there was limited to work. I did make it to the Cascades but not the Olympic Peninsula.

The views of Canada were amazing. You're so far away yet so close.

Hope you're able to overcome that bump in the road and knock this one off!

 

Yeah, I used to work for a large aerospace company and looked into spending some time over on the peninsula when I would travel up there for work. Unfortunately it's not really a day trip and I never found enough time to do it.

 

Neither did I. But it's just life; no need to hide it.

If you got into the Cascades, you got the better of the two (IMO). Olympics is more hit-and-miss, unless you want rainforest. A lot of people do, but I'm generally not one of them. I'm so clearly a NorCal forest/mountains kind of guy, hahahaha. And some deserts, I suppose.

It's amazing how far away it is, even from Seattle. Several hours to make it "across the sound" no matter which way you go. And the peninsula itself is *enormous*.

 

Indeed.

Idk. I was blown away. I don't know if it's true, but I feel like the Sierra going north, you move into "newer" mountains and with so much new. Of course, the Hoh has always been something to see. Very mysterious...and maybe a little creepy.

 

Bridges and Falls | Olympic Peninsula #2
Part of the Olympic Peninsula Passages (Sep 2022) trip.

It was a little strange to be heading back to the Olympic Peninsula only a few days after having bailed on a trip to the same location, but such is life sometimes. This time - not wanting to retrace our steps through the same terrain to kick off the trip - we decided to pick up the loop around the peninsula at the five-o'clock position, near Skokomish. From there, we'd run the loop clockwise, the opposite direction of our previous attempt.

This meant that rather than take a ferry to kick off the trip, we drove down and around the Puget Sound, eventually transitioning to dirt a little before noon, on our way to the first of two bridges that I'd been itching to see since Mike @mk5 had posted a few photos of them on his trip to the area. Sufficed to say, his photos were more than a smidge better than mine, but we'll get to that in a moment.

The first of these bridges - the Vance Creek Bridge - was a short hike from the road, so we grabbed the camera and headed out the old rail grade until we reached the trestle. Built for the Simpson Logging Company in 1929, it stands 347 feet high and is the second-highest railroad arch in the United States. Decommissioned in the 1970s during the decline of logging on the Olympic Peninsula, the approaches on both sides have been removed in order to discourage foot traffic (which is illegal) on the structure itself.

The interior of an abandoned culvert on the way to the bridge had become a canvas of sorts.​

The Vance Street Bridge, as viewable from the eastern escarpment.​

Needless to say, viewing the bridge from our position was a bit underwhelming. A disappointment, really. The ability to walk out on the bridge would have been cool, but even that wouldn't have given the perspective that would make the country's second tallest railroad arch really shine. For that, one needs an entirely different approach - one not limited by human abilities.

Mike's perspective was significantly more compelling.​

Spending only a few minutes at the second highest steel arch railroad bridge in the United States, it only made sense to experience the highest. As a matter of course, the route we were on crossed the High Steel Bridge, and a few minutes later we found ourselves once again wishing that we had wings to really capture the experience.

You'd never know from the roadway, but there's a 375-foot drop to the river below.​

Definitely a long way down.​

With a bit of trekking, we found our way to an outcropping that afforded us a partial view of this behemoth.​

Still not as dramatic as a flying camera, but not too shabby either!​

Chatting about the drone that I'd love to have in my toolkit, but would dread to use - it would be time consuming, noisy, and inconvenient to carry - we headed back to the Tacoma to put some real miles behind us. These miles - as with many on this trip - would primarily be through tree tunnels, with only the occasional clearing and associated views.

The filtered light in the tree tunnels was beautiful in its own right.​

We ran into two impassable roads on this section of the loop. The first was blocked off entirely, and the second was too overgrown for even a 1st gen Tacoma. Both had reasonably straight-forward re-routes, but underscored the importance of having detailed maps available.​

The green blanket that covered the roads was a sight to behold when a clearing presented itself.​

Most of this land is privately owned and managed for logging purposes.​

As we progressed along this section of the route - along the southern flank of the Olympic Peninsula - we realized that our plan to finish the entire loop in 3-4 days might have been a bit ambitious. While the roads surfaces were largely in good shape, the terrain dictated innumerable twists and turns as we wound along the undulating folds of the mountainous terrain. This one section was more than 250 miles in length, and we'd covered only 82 miles by 3:30pm.

Back into the tree tunnels.​

On a short spur that ended up leading to a fabulous camp site - one we'd have happily occupied if it'd been later in the evening - we were treated to a view of our local iconic mountain. (Mt. Rainier)​

Retreating from our second impassable road.​

Eventually - about halfway through the southern route and a little after 5:00pm - we neared an area known as Wynoochee. This is an area we've been before - but only in a "family camping" capacity - but we'd never done any exploration beyond the campground and nearby reservoir. Today, we'd change all that, visiting the first few - of many - waterfalls that I hoped to enjoy along the loop. Afterall, we were exploring a rain forest!

Winding our way up the Wynoochee River, the water level relatively low due to the time of year.​

A cascading fall dropped down off the hillside before joining the Wynoochee.​

After driving upstream along the Wynoochee River for six miles or so, we reached the jumping off point of our next hike. A short one - at only about a half-mile each way - it would take us to one of the more well-known falls in the area - predictably named: Wynoochee Falls.

Apparently there used to be a campground here as well - many years ago from the looks of the terrain now - which was likely removed in order to limit traffic to the falls, even if only slightly.

This little guy had the place to himself until we showed up.​

The trail ended at a pool below the double cascade, partially obscured by the opposite bank.​

A little maneuvering brought more of the falls into view.​

We dorked around at the falls for 20 minutes or so, hopping around on the shore, admiring the surroundings, and wondering - if only a little - what it would be like to swim in the teal blue waters nearest the falls. Ultimately, we'd err on the side of dryness - given the time of day and lack of swimsuits - as we headed back up the trail to the Tacoma, and onward towards a location we could call home for the night.

As we left, I turned around for a final shot of the falls in motion.​

Making our way south again to Lake Wynoochee, we discussed spending the night in the campground only briefly before casting that option aside. In fact, we've camped there twice before - enjoying it the first time but, having one of our worst camping experiences ever (we now despise RV generators), on our return trip. Still, we couldn't help but stop at the southern end of the lake to admire the spillway and take a quick look at the calm waters it retained.

Earlier in the season, the view from this location would have been deafening.​

Tranquility.​

Our quick stop at the lake complete, we had some significant mileage to cover if we wanted to come anywhere near completing this section of the route. And, at least nearing completion was something we definitely wanted to do, since we'd planned on a special hike near Lake Quinault the following morning. Luckily for us - given our prioritization of speed over beauty at this point - we once again found ourselves shrouded in tree tunnels, rendering my desire to stop for photos, significantly reduced.

I said "reduced," not "eliminated." ​

In addition to walls of tree, the roads soon transitioned to the paved variety. In just over an hour we covered another 50 miles - by far the speediest we'd traveled all day - delivering us to within 15 minutes of our trailhead the following morning.

With the sun only moments from dipping below the horizon, we made quick work of finding camp along Quinault Ridge. Nestled into the trees, it didn't afford sweeping views, but with our plan to leaving early the next morning, those would be of little consequence during the night. Still, before making a simple dinner of Ramen, we did find our way to an old logging platform that had a peek-a-boo view of the Olympics at what couldn't have been a more perfect time.

Majestic.​

After a few minutes of admiration, our stomachs reminded us that it'd been eight hours since lunch, and @mrs.turbodb got to work boiling water as I set about setting up the tent and making a temporary repair to the front skid plate, where I'd lost a bolt after the threads stripped over the last several trips.

Not long after, we were snuggled under the covers, thankful for the Exped mattress as we comfortably nodded off to sleep in the refreshingly cool night air.

My only concern was whether we'd bitten off more than we could chew. We still had a lot of ground to cover, and unbeknownst to us at the time, our hike the next morning would end up being significantly longer than we'd planned!

 

Laughing about the generators. Had a similar experience in Death Valley. Rolled into the park later than anticipated and found a spot in one of the campgrounds. Unfortunately, the vehicle that pulled in next to us was a motorhome. We asked politely and they declined--the ranger had much better luck. They left.

 

Well to put a positive spin on it, if it weren't for the obnoxious drone of generators, I might have never been motivated to explore beyond developed campgrounds. And look at me now, camping is a complete pain in the ass and my truck is constantly broken, and I just love it.

And speaking of things that are great... great photos Dan! I'll agree that the flying camera helps with perspective sometimes, but every time I see your photos from these places I've been, my heart just boils over with jealous rage. Okay well maybe that's an exaggeration. But damn, the depth, the clarity... I dunno... the, like, colors? Can't put my finger on it, but good job! Always look forward to your posts.


Perfectly seasoned, cooked to perfection



Deep fried and doused in ranch

Not that I'm complaining. I like ranch too!


Seeing the dam photo also reminded me how Olympic NP has been leading the way for dam removal in recent years.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNP5KgNZhjk

Sorry if that's a plot spoiler for an upcoming destination or discussion point in your report. But I'm just fascinated by this kind of stuff.

 

Rainforests | Olympic Peninsula #3
Part of the Olympic Peninsula Passages (Sep 2022) trip.

Wanting to get an early start, we were up before 7:00am - right along with the sun as it crested the ridges to the east. Climbing out of the tent, we were pleasantly surprised to find the rain fly completely dry, having expected that it'd be dripping wet after a night in the rainforest.

Nestled off the road, we'd slept well, undisturbed all night.​

As with a couple of our recent trips, we decided to skip official breakfasts on this adventure, opting instead for snacking on trail mix and blueberries - something that allows us to get out of camp quickly and eliminates the need for milk in the fridge. Knowing we had a full day ahead of us, we soon set off through the tunnels of trees towards the first - of several - rainforest hikes.

Even though it was dry, the cool blue light of morning lent the perfect atmosphere as we descended the ridge.​

Below us, fog blanketed the landscape.​

Half an hour after leaving camp, we'd found the trailhead to the Quinault Rain Forest hike, had a few handfuls of trail mix, and availed ourselves of the restrooms. We had two choices at this point - to do a shorter - 1 mile - hike, or a longer 5-mile trek that would wind us through varied terrain. And, though I'd planned for us to do the shorter jaunt, the offer of a deeper dive - as usual - won out. We'd just have to figure out how to adjust our schedule later!

The Olympic Peninsula is home to many of the largest trees in the world. This fir towered several hundred feet into the air.​

Mossy glow.​

Generations.​

Our hike through the rainforest found us winding through groves of towering trees - primarily cedar, spruce, and fir. Strolling through fields of ferns - many varieties blanketing the forest floor. Ducking under limbs draped in moss - glowing golden in the early morning sun. We were even treated to displays of cascading waterfalls and colorful fungi, staples of this perpetually damp environment.

Don't forget to look up.​

Delicate deer fern fronds.​

I've never seen - or noticed - a fungi so white on the bottom and brown on the top.​

Cascade Creek had a beautiful falls.​

Cathedral of green.​

A few miles into our five-mile loop, the rain forest trail spit us out along the southern shore of Lake Quinault at the stunning lodge. Surely, if one desired a luxurious stay - no matter if the weather was perfect like today or overcast and gloomy as it must be much of the year - this would fit the bill. And, for those of us who enjoy camp sites with limited connectivity - the lodge only allows 30 minutes of WiFi per guest, per day!

Designed in 1926 by Robert Reamer, the lodge is reminiscent of Reamer's work at the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park.​

A perfect place to take a load off for a moment.​

Standing guard.​

From the lodge, we worked our way along the lakeshore for a couple of miles, eventually completing our loop and climbing into the truck for a short drive to one final nearby attraction - the World's Largest Spruce.

The biggest spruce in the world. Sort of.​

It turns out that this spruce - which apparently is tied for the title of "largest" - acquired that title not by how tall it is, nor by its mass. Rather, the number of "points" determines the largest tree. Now, I don't have any idea what that really means, and it sounds like a pile of baloney, but apparently this tree has 922 of the little buggers, and the co-champion tree in Oregon had - past tense, as it fell to a storm in 2007 - 902 points. Curiously, there is a larger - by mass - spruce only 45 minutes from this one, but as it is not an attraction at the local RV park, it apparently isn't qualified for the world record.

Having planned an hour - but spent three - at Lake Quinault, it was time for us to transition to the next phase of the traverse around the Olympic Peninsula. The western portion - both through rainforests and along shorelines - kicked off similarly to the southern section. That's right, tree tunnels!

More filtered light.​

There seemed to be even fewer breaks in the trees along this segment - perhaps an indication of the additional rainfall that the western slopes of the ranges here receive. Here along the western edge, rainfall totals surpass 135" per year, compared to the rain shadow cast on the eastern flanks that receives only 20-30" annually. Still, when there were small openings in the canopy, our heads were on swivels, and we soaked in the views.

There are fabulous mountains to the east!​

Perhaps to be expected, the plethora of pine (and fir and cedar) meant that much of this land was used for logging. In fact, we commented how strange it was that all this land - as the route wound its way north - was privately owned. Our speculation as to the ownership was confirmed as we passed several active operations, each cutting and sorting their bounty.

This crane hauls cut trees up the steep slopes to the platform where they are loaded onto trucks.​

A skidder and loader sorted logs right on the road we were travelling. Guess they don't see much traffic!​

After winding our way around in the forest for another hour or so, we popped out near Queets - at the southern end of a series of beaches - where we followed the highway north for a short spell. By now, our stomachs - held over only by a bit of trail mix and some blueberries - were also in full starvation mode, and we decided that lunch at Beach 1, or maybe Beach 2 (seriously, those are the names - up to Beach 7 or 10 or some such) would be a great place to enjoy the surf.

The Olympic National Park - more than any other we've visited - seems to be disjointed, encompassing different areas on the peninsula. The numbered beaches are in the Park.​

Prioritizing food over fun, we ate a quick lunch while fighting off the local raven riff-raff, before following a short trail to the beach. This took all the willpower we could muster, as the otherwise sunny day was anything but here at the seashore. The fog - burned off everywhere else - was still fighting the good fight as it pushed in off of the ocean, making for a magically misty experience as we finally reached the sand.

This is what I think of when someone says, "Olympic Peninsula."​

Through the mist.​

To the ocean.​

It was as though we could transition - with a single step - between two entirely different climates by retreating from the beach.​

Lunch behind us - and our bellies no longer threatening mutiny - we dove back onto dirt and through the trees along a circuitous route to the Hoh Rain Forest. Unsurprisingly, the landscape was familiar.

A perfect summary. Forests, logging, mountains, glaciers, and roads - this is the Olympic Peninsula.​

After waiting for a bit of road work along Hoh Road - not the most fortunate of names, we decided - we reached the parking area right around 4:30pm. Unbeknownst to us, this turned out to be perfect timing as it meant that the days crowds were on their way out, and while we wouldn't have the trails to ourselves, they wouldn't be all that crowded, either.

We'd do two loops over the next hour - through the Hall of Mosses and along the Spruce Nature Trail - each one winding through different elements of the same rain forest.

Late afternoon sun filtered down through the vine maple, reaching for the forest floor.​

Here, trees can - and do - grow anywhere. Including 40-feet up another towering giant, roots - like filtered sun - straining to reach the ground.​

Rambunctious root ball. A fallen tree one occupied the space under these roots, providing life to the next generation.​

Of the two hikes, the Hall of Mosses was certainly the highlight - not so much for the mosses in particular - but simply because the landscape was more varied. This may also have been partially due to the weather; the sunny day afforded significantly more light on the mosses loop, something we both enjoyed.

An auspicious entrance to the Hall of Mosses.​

There's no secret behind the naming.​

Transitioning to the Spruce Nature Trail, I think we were both excited by the fact that the trail worked its way out to the Hoh River. This - it would turn out - would be a case of expectations surpassing reality, as the Hoh River at this point wasn't all that beautiful, but we enjoyed the 1.2-mile loop nonetheless, as we had it entirely to ourselves.

Forest of ferns under a palace of pine.​

When one falls, many rise.​

The Hall of Mosses wasn't the only place giving off a warm yellow glow this evening.​

One of the nice things about our double-loop hike was that the terminus of the second loop popped us out at the parking lot, just a few feet from our trusty Tacoma. Now nearing 6:00pm, we had a decision to make - look for camp somewhere nearby, or try to cover more ground on a route that seemed to grow with every mile we traveled.

Perhaps a bit out of character, we opted to look for a camp site. Mostly, this was because we'd spotted a road that we hoped might lead down to a gravel bar on the Hoh River. Spending the night there - with the quiet rippling of the late-summer flow - would be quite a treat, as long as no one else had come up with the idea before we had!

Time for dinner.​

It turns out that the first - and most promising - road we followed was in fact occupied. The gravel bar was big enough to allow for two camp sites, but with the other residents away from camp when we arrived, we decided that setting up without asking was probably not the best way to make friends.

Instead, we wandered down a second road, and were obviously delighted to find that there were several camp sites right along the river. In fact, the two other campers had - conveniently for us - the second and third best spots, leaving us with the primo site at the very end of the gravel bar.

Dinner - a tasty meal of Vietnamese chicken, Asian slaw, green beans, and rice - was reheated in aluminum foil over the stove, and soon we were enjoying it in our rocking camp chairs as the water floated by and the sun set on the horizon.

A glorious end to a glorious day.​

Nodding off to sleep, and halfway - at least by distance - through our trip, we had no idea this would be our last night in the tent. As they say, "best laid plans..."

 

End of the Earth | Olympic Peninsula #4
Part of the Olympic Peninsula Passages (Sep 2022) trip.

I have to say, it was so pleasant sleeping next to the Hoh River, as it quietly rippled by through the night, bringing cooler temperatures along for the ride. Those temperatures - along with the fact that we were parked in a valley - meant that sunrise wasn't on the agenda, and it was nearly 8:00am when we finally climbed down the ladder to get our day underway.

I'm usually a fan of cliff-side camp spots, but this one turned out to be great.
Note: I'm kicking myself a little bit that we didn't camp *in* the river, which was so flat and calm. ​

It was a little dewy this close to the water, unfortunately.​

Hoping the sun would climb quickly enough to help dry off the tent, we dallied around camp for a few minutes before realizing that we didn't stand a chance of the warming rays for at least another hour or so. With that, I broke out the trusty towel and set to work - removing the majority of the water, but still knowing that we'd need to finish the drying process the next time the tent was opened.

And with that, we were off. Racing out of the Hoh Rain Forest, we headed west to US-101 where we turned north. And, while the mapped route then dove back inland, we decided that no trip to the Olympic Peninsula would be complete without venturing to the most northwest corner (of the lower 48) and walking out to Cape Flattery. Seriously, how could you miss that experience?

As we neared Neah Bay, Seal Rock rose up out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, seal-less.​

For anyone planning to hike Cape Flattery or the nearby Shi Shi Beach, make sure to pick up a permit from the Makah Tribe, which you need in order to park at the trailheads. Permits are available for $20 and last for the remainder of the calendar year in which they are purchased, making them a great deal if you're spending a few days or plan to return for more hiking!

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After a quick stop at the Makah Mini Mart to grab our permit, we wound our way out to Cape Flattery and scored a primo spot in the very-full and actively-monitored-and-ticketed parking lot, right near the trailhead as another set of hikers had just returned from their trek.

The entirety of the trail heads downhill - or uphill on the return - transitioning on-and-off of boardwalks that would have kept our feet from getting too muddy, even on the wettest of days. As with earlier rain forest hikes, filtered light made for a pleasant stroll - the crashing surf in the distance, beckoning us onward.

This peaceful forest belies the tumultuous shoreline over which it stands guard.​

Nearing the end of the trail, there were several short spurs that delivered us to viewing platforms overlooking some of the most dramatic shoreline imaginable. Teal water crashed onto gray stone. Caves - carved over millennia - echoed as waves continued their relentless pounding. Cormorants dried their wings after diving for fish.

Even knowing what to expect, the color of the water is stunning when it first comes into view.​

A harsh shoreline, even in ideal conditions.​

In the distance, Canada. ​

I always feel like cormorants look like ancient beasts, especially when they extend their wings to dry.​

Hanging on.​

The final viewing platform gives a 270° view off the end of the earth. And it's there - some three-quarters of a mile off the coast - that the Cape Flattery Lighthouse sits on Tatoosh Island.

If only we had a boat.​

So much to explore.​

We hung out at the point for a good thirty minutes or so - me snapping various photos and watching the surf, @mrs.turbodb catching wind of a spouting whale and watching it blow several times far out at sea - before heading up the trail and back to the Tacoma. We stopped only briefly along the way, a tree more famous than us, getting one more photo taken of its unique form.

Nature's pedestal.​

Reaching the Tacoma around 11:30am, both of us were hungry and talk turned to lunch. We'd noticed a gravel road - Cape Loop Rd - leading away from the parking area, and noted on our map that it appeared to offer some promising spurs that overlooked the coastline as it worked its way back to Neah Bay. Worth a shot, we decided!

Back into the tree tunnels.​

It turns out that none of the spurs we'd hoped to enjoy were passable, and exactly halfway back to Neah Bay, the road had been decommissioned - two large berms and a deep ditch, carved across the path. Bummed - but not surprised - we turned around and headed back, eventually finding a small opening in the trees for a final shot of Tatoosh Island, as long as we stood on the RTT in the back of the truck!

We could have eaten here, but it was sort of trashy and there was no view from the ground, so we decided to move on.​

Ultimately, having set our sights on eating with a view of the ocean, we headed south - along the western shoreline of the peninsula - until we found a nice picnic spot along Hobuck Beach. There, a nice table in the shade was the perfect spot to consume some quickly assembled sandwiches, fruit, and chips to satisfy our grumbling tummies. It was 1:15pm!

The picnic area had a nice Makah structure with some cool copper art on the ends of the log framing.​

The posts were carved like totem poles.​

Nearby, a standalone carving - of a less-traditional subject matter.​

Now, the fact that there appeared to be a road down onto the beach - right next to the table we'd eaten at - hadn't gone unnoticed by either of us. We had no idea if it was legal to drive on the beach - though others obviously had as there were plenty of tracks into the soft sand - and neither of us really had any desire to get the truck salty and sandy, but we figured a quick shot that implied the Tacoma went for a swim could be fun.

Not what it seems.​

We, however, definitely wanted to walk out onto the beach - the blue sky unencumbered by fog as it had been the day before - and soon we found ourselves strolling the shoreline as the waves washed in and out.

A crew of Western Sandpipers were hard at work, also in search of a snack.​

As nice as it was, we couldn't hang out at the beach all day - we had a lot more of the Olympic Traverse to cover before we reached our starting point - and headed back to rejoin the route as it worked its way toward the Sol Duc area of the Olympic National Park.

Most well-known - I think - for the Sol Duc Resort (and hot springs) as well as a short hike to the Sol Duc Falls, like the rest of the Olympic National Park, I think the real gems are hidden deeper in the park, protected from the hoards by the tens-of-miles of hiking necessary to achieve them. While we didn't have time for a multi-day backpacking trip of that sort, we did have a couple of spots that were sure to delight.

The first was a natural salmon ladder. A constriction in the Sol Duc River, this is a place where - every year - migrating salmon bunch up as they try to jump their way through raging rapids in order to reach their spawning grounds. As you can imagine, this can take a bit of effort, and more often than not we'd see an enormous fish swept back into the pool from which it launched, rather than succeeding in its attempted swim upstream. Still, it was a sight to behold!

Here. I. Go!​

Nevermind. Not going to make it.​

A successful jump from the bottom pool (of four). This fish is about three feet long.​

From the salmon ladder it was just a few more miles to the end of the road and the trailhead for our next excursion - a mile or so hike to the Sol Duc Falls. Designated as a footpath, but populated like a highway, we found ourselves wishing that we were just a couple hours later in the day - as we had been in the Hoh Rain Forest - so the trail wasn't quite so busy. Still, there was no arguing its beauty as it worked its way upstream and through the moss-draped forests that had become so familiar.

Thick undergrowth battles for light.​

It's not just me, right? This is a sperm whale, hiding in the forest.​

While there was no water, I really liked how the rocks seemed to cascade down the creek bed at this bend in the trail.​

Mossy carpet.​

We arrived at the Sol Duc Falls just after 4:00pm. Depending on water volume, the fall can support as many as four channels, cascading some 48 feet into a narrow, rocky canyon before passing under a bridge high above. Needless to say, the drama was high as folks searched for the perfect shot of these fabulous falls.

Channeled fury.​

Rushing over the edge.​

Into the light.​

As always seems to be the case, the hike back was quicker than the hike out. Thinking we might be able to pull off a similar feat as the evening before, we scoped out a few spur roads along the Sol Duc River and hoped that we'd find a gravel bar where we could prep dinner and enjoy the cool air flowing down the valley.

It was wishful thinking.

Unfortunately, each of the spurs had been gated, and eventually the road we were on migrated away from the river altogether as we re-joined the loop we'd been following for the last several days. Now, it would take us along the shores of Lake Crescent - the air suddenly thick with wildfire smoke - as we began the easterly leg of our journey.

Lake Crescent haze.​

We'd later discover that the smoke was from an unnamed fire that'd kicked up a bit south of Port Angeles.​

Looking east after making our way around the lake, it was fascinating how the position of the sun - and relative position to the source of the smoke - affected the color of the haze.​

Having failed to find a camp site on our first attempt - though surely, we would have found something as we continued driving - the thick smoke prompted a conversation about where we wanted to spend the night. In the end, we decided that - even though it would mean a late arrival - that we could probably make it all the way home if we really pushed it after dinner. That would alleviate any need to rush through dinner or eat in the dark, and would come with the benefit of a shower once we reached our destination.

And so, we decided to make our way to Camp Hayden - an old installation that was built to be part of the coastal defense system during World War II - where we'd eat dinner and enjoy the sunset.

It appears that we have arrived at one of the bunkers.​

Oh, how I wanted to see what was behind door #1. Alas, locks.​

Cannon cover. Note the circle on the ground, where the canon that once sat here, rotated.​

16-inch, 1-ton, canon shells. Shot 28 miles.​

We found a nice place to set up for dinner, and after deploying the tent to dry, I wandered around a bit to check out the rest of the installation, as @mrs.turbodb got going on gnocchi and green beans that we'd enjoy as the sun set to the west.

Meal prep underway.​

Meal consumption underway.​

Dinner was quick and before long we were headed south - the sun now below the horizon - toward the ferry that would carry us back across the Puget Sound, the way we'd come nearly a week before.

In the end, both our fears and curiosity of this area were realized. Put bluntly, many of the driving aspects of this trip were monotonous. While the truck was in motion, there was only one type of terrain - forest - and by and large, only one view - tree tunnel. Still, there were treasures along the way: hikes through majestic rain forests, along sharp ridges, and to the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. Historic bridges towering above plunging ravines. Here and there, Olympic-sized views that only hint at the wonders that can be found on the Olympic Peninsula if one is willing to tackle the passages to get there. Those are the wonders that made this trip one we'll remember.