The cheerful lass at the front desk had the Washington State Department of Transportation website open in front of her. “You might want to reconsider your drive,” she said. “The interstate is closed in a bunch of places, abandoned cars, accidents, it’s a mess.” The tall guy standing on the stairs agreed. “I was upstairs watching the news. Seattle is a disaster.” The gal at the desk offered us another night in the little cabin on the bluff at Kalaloch. “All our guests from Seattle have called to cancel; they can’t get out of the city. It’s only 50 dollars to stay an additional night.” I walked out to the car where J was idling in the frozen air. The thermometer read 27 degrees. “I don’t care,” he said, “just don’t leave me sitting here in the cold.” I went back in and booked the extra night.
We were in an island of sunshine. The roads were dry and mostly clear with only a few icy patches in the shade. But we were penned in. North of us, Forks was covered in snow. And to the south, Aberdeen was the same. Without chains, we couldn’t get through either town safely, and even if we had, we’d still have to navigate the interstate. We drove south, back to Quinalt Lodge for internet, lunch, and a walk in the woods.
I held my boots up to the heating vents in the car as we headed to the Quinalt River ranger station. There was one other car in the lot, but we didn’t see any people. The only sound was the river, the snow melt dripping off the trees, and our footsteps crunching on the frozen ground. The bright sunlight back-lit the moss covered maples, outlining them in neon green. A deer grazed silently underneath a scrubby tree. She heard us, turned her head to listen, her big rabbit-like ears opened wide, glowing pink from behind, and then, she went back to pulling at the frosted grass.
I’ve been to the rain forest in the snow before, but never in this kind of cold. My ears hurt underneath my hat, the ends of my fingers ached. I carried a walking stick/tripod, good for extra balance on the icy ground, but I had to keep switching hands so I could warm my carrying hand – my gloves were insufficient to keep out the cold. My wool overcoat was barely adequate even with my layers of long underwear and wool sweater vest. By the time we finished the short loop trail, my face was raw and glowing. I tried facing the sun, my hands raised to absorb any heat it might give off, but it was useless, it was just too cold. We had walked a little over a mile. The sky was so blue, everything was so bright, and I could not wait to get back in the car with the heat turned all the way up.
We were not so much snowed in as snowed out. There wasn’t quite an inch on the ground in the forest – nothing to keep us from local exploration – we simply could not get home. We were stuck, bounded in by ice and snow on both ends of the road with nothing to do but wait. Supplied with canned soup, milk for our coffee, a bag of pretzels, and a giant candy bar, we returned to our cabin on the bluff. I sat on the couch, fiddled with my camera, and watched two enormous bald eagles land in a tree just beyond the lagoon below us.
I shot a few slightly blurry photos of the big birds. They looked sturdy, stoic, and perfectly attired for the biting cold. Their scaly feet gripped the high branches of the snag where they must have had a nest. They seemed entirely unconcerned about road conditions. It did not matter to them if we made home for Thanksgiving dinner or spent yet another night in their company. “We could do worse,” I thought, and then, I spent the remaining hours of daylight watching the tide go out, further and further, until all the light was gone.
Pics: Top: Tiny mushrooms on a fallen log, Maple Glade Trail. Middle: Hwy 101 between Kalaloch and Quinalt. Bottom: Kalaloch Beach.
We made it home safely, thanks, grateful for the extra night. Extra special props to the nice folks at Kalaloch Lodge. We were comped by Kalaloch Lodge via the PR company for the first night, but we didn’t receive special treatment — other snowed out guests told me they received the same bargain rate for the extra night.
very cool picture, Pam!
I’m glad you made it home safely. Consider this cold the “warm up” for your Antarctic adventure.
Fine story. Love the idea of you finally settling in to the warm cabin and receeding tide.