Sadly, there's no way to get a feel for just how tall these trees are without some frame of reference. Take if from Michael Finkel (my favorite adventure writer of all time) who wrote in Backpacker Magazine that "If trees could play basketball...I really think these firs could post up a redwood."
As we ascended, views of the valley opened up below us. Panoramas like this are rare in the Olympics, because the trees simply don't permit you to see very far. I like forests even better than mountains, though, so I can live with this.
That said, the peaks in the Olympics are alright too.
We climbed to a pretty respectable elevation, gawking at the old growth along the way, until a snow bank too tall to ram finally blocked our path. Defeated, we turned around and headed for the Hamma Hamma.
At first the Hamma Hamma seemed like a repeat of the Duckabush, just as the Duckabush seemed destined to be a replay of the Dosewallips. All three are variations on a theme. Narrow valleys with steep slopes, covered by dark trees. Each has a cold, swift river winding through their bottomlands to the Hood Canal, and each is as beautiful as the last.
The differences are subtle, yet tangible. Each has it's own distinctive character. What separates the Hamma Hamma from the others is the river it's self. Perhaps it was a trick of the light (there usually isn't much to be had on the Olympic Peninsula), the afternoon sun illuminating the crystal blue waters from above, I'm not sure. It just seemed to me that the Hamma Hamma River was a little more picturesque, a little more inviting than the others.
From the road we saw a sparkling little pool at the base of a small waterfall. We decided to hop out and take the short hike down to see them.
When we got there, we realized that both the pool and the waterfall were much bigger than we had thought. Because we could see the bottom of the pool from the road, we figured that it must be fairly shallow...we were wrong. The pool was easily 15 feet deep, and the falls were at least that tall. Still, despite the obvious danger, the greenish blue water and the thundering falls were irresistible, and we climbed over moss covered rocks to take some quick photos.
The pool...
The falls...
Shauna sitting on a moss covered boulder at the edge of the pool...
And here begins a funny tale...
Literally seconds after snapping that last pic, I ambled over and set down next to Shauna on the bank. We lie there together for awhile, I'm guessing 15 minutes or so, enjoying the scene. Inevitably, I began packing up the tripod and the camera, while Shauna stood up to go.
As she made her way across the moss covered rock, I watched her right foot slip into a 5 to 6 inch deep pool on the river; and I think to myself "Man, she's gonna' get her foot wet...I hope she packed an extra pair trail runners, or something."
Much to my (and Shauna's) suprise, the pool was more like two or three feet deep (yet again, the crazy clear river had fooled us) and I watched her sink up to her waist into the cold water. Still not particularly concerned, my mind says "ah crap, she's gonna' need to change her pants, maybe even her shirt, now. I hope we can find a place to dry them in Port Townsend tonight."
It wasn't until I saw her vanishing down the mossy bank that I realized she was in the deepest of shit. An invisible current was pulling her in quickly, and I knew I didn't have enough time to reach her before she disappeared completely. Somehow, and at the last possible moment, her left foot found something solid on the slimy rock that she clung to, and together we struggled to terra-firma.
This is Shauna immediately after the incident. Wet up to the neck, but no worse for the wear. I still have dreams of her slipping into that crystal pool, only in my dreams things don't always end so well.
Really, I was ready to pack it up, make for Port Townsend and regroup. Take the rest of the day off. Fortunatley, it took a while for Shauna to get changed. In that time I had recovered myself, and, apparently She had recovered herself too (or, perhaps she's just tougher than I am).
We continued up the road for awhile, taking pictures as we went. The sky was pale blue (we were having unreal luck with the weather), and the temps were perfect. I particularly liked the shots we got of a few mountain peaks that were usually shrouded in clouds and fog.
A few clicks up the road we were again halted by snow. And, once again we consulted our hand drawn wonder map and elected to try a road that promised to take us past Elk and Jefferson Lakes. Neither of us had any notion of what these lakes were supposed to look like, but, they seemed promising.
The road took us through some beautiful second and old growth stands of Douglas fir on our way to the lakes, and the mountain peaks became more and more dramatic as went.
Somehow, we missed Elk Lake. We didn't see a single sign for it, and we didn't see any side roads that looked like they might take us to it. We did, however, find Jefferson Lake. It was a short, steep walk downhill from the parking lot to it's emerald waters.
Jefferson Lake...
Check out how green the water is!
A creek feeding the lake.
There was a spectacular stand of old growth Doug Fir along the north shore of the lake. These were some of the tallest trees we saw on the peninsula. And we would see our share of very, very tall trees.
It was early evening as we left Jefferson Lake, so, we elected to finally move north, to Port Townsend. I can't say I wasn't a little melancholy as we passed through Quilcene, where we left the Hood Canal and the Eastern side of the Peninsula behind. I'm glad that we spent a little time there. That we didn't just blow through, en-route to the "real" attractions on the north and west sides. The Hood Canal is a back-woodsy (is that even a real word?) little gem that will always be among my favorite places.
Next up...the north side.
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