See recently posted trip reports or reports of trips from 2010, 2009, 2008.
It was suggested that I post a link to this little movie about the Hope Island Kayaking/Camping trip so others could see it as well. Roy
http://web.mac.com/rvermillion/iWeb/Outdoor/Hope%20Island.html
Thanks to everyone who came out to the Happy Hour! We had a great time, in fact we didn't leave till 10:30p!
I hope to see you all at the next event.
I also wanted to remind everyone, that 2010 brings in a new photo contest! So take photos on OutVentures events and post away!
To enter a photo just click the box above the "UPLOAD FILE" button.
Winners will be announced at Fall Potluck at REI and a calendar will be created.
To see this years calendar, go to http://www.zazzle.com/outventures/gifts
Have a great weekend.
Jeff King
We all made it back safe from Hope Island. Pictures are posted, check them out! I hope you all managed to get outside!
Hope Island 2010
Our trip to Hope Island State Park didnât start out quite as we had predicted. Roy, on his way home from work received a callâ¦a pipe had broken on his washing machine and had been overflowing into his condo for several hours. No one was aware until the business owners downstairs came up to tell them it was raining, but that it was raining inside for a change. Luckily, Royâs room-mate Garth was able to take care of the place and allow Roy to join us for the weekend. Cheers and many thanks to Garth!
For those of you who may not have followed the âplanâ very closely, it was to drive 78 miles deep into the South Puget Sound, find a spot to put our kayak in at Carlyon Park and paddle just under a half mile to the island [in the dark]. Then, unload our gear, setup camp and sit around a warm fire toasting to our adventurous spirit.
It was a very dark 8:45p when we pulled up to the Carlyon Beach and Marina. To our surprise, it is a private park and completely gated off. We expected the marina might be private, but not the park. So, we drove around for 20 minutes until we found a spot just before a bridge with a sandbar beneath. We backed the truck up and dumped everything over the side onto the sand bar. The drop was only (only!) about 8 feet and the kayak poked up oddly, over the top of the bridge deck as I quickly tossed our gear out of the truck bed and over the side. Roy had already climbed down and was catching the gear. There was a single street light over us, casting its odd orange light and stark black shadows. It made me feel like midnight thief, quickly getting rid of the evidence as I nervously looked around for other cars or passersby.
There was a light breeze coming in from the South West as I walked from where I parked the truck in the neighborhood. I called Bob and Lyle and warned them of our trouble. By now it was 9:30ish, and I learned later that Bob had remarked rather emphatically, âThey havenât even left yet!?!â Evidentially, kayaking in the dark of winter to an island youâd never been to before is a bit out of Bobâs comforts zoneâ¦and I imagine heâs not alone.
We knew it was going to take us more than one trip across the channel to get all our crap over there, so, we loaded and stuffed and strapped everything we could, secured one of Royâs kayak lights on the bow and I climbed in. I was excited and my heart was beating faster as Roy gave me a shove and I slipped into the dark waters of the sound. I could see the outline of the island ahead of me being backlit by the light pollution of what we thought was Tacoma, so at least I knew which way to go. Second thoughts began to race through my mind as I started to paddleâ¦all sorts of disasters, ranging from a whale attack to drunken rednecks with powerboats. However, after a few strokes and as the kayak began to make smooth steady progress through the water, those thoughts faded away and were replaced with the excitement of it all. There was a flock of gulls on the docks and a few lone boats were moored there, barnacled and longing for the open sea.
The trees tops of the island are the only thing with any real definition, so that is what I focused on. As I rounded the docks, the gulls started calling and moving aboutâ¦I would swear that they were mocking me. Looking up and down the sound for other boats, I could see lights from buoys and docks slowly blinking on and off, inviting moorage and warning of obstacles. The island slowly got taller and taller and drift logs bleached white from the sun started to become visible. Near the center of the channel a current started tugging at my little boat creating a small bow wake. The wake tapped and gurgled on the bottom of the kayak and occasionally a small spray of water would crest out from the bow. It was invigorating to be gliding through the water and I felt as though I could have paddled all night.
The red bow light bobbed up and down as I tried to keep it trained on a single point on the island. I slid past drift logs, sea foam and other debris in the water. It took a matter of minutes for me to cross the channel and I was next to Hope Island, searching for a suitable landing to unload the gear and go back for more. I found some wood stairs and signage for Hope Island State Park and decided to put it all there and go back. I powered up and pointed the bow toward shore. The paddles dug into the black water, swirling and frothing it as it argued against my stokes. The bow bulldozed its way onto the rocky shore and crunched to a stop, a small wake followed me, rushing up past the sides of the kayak and disappearing as it sunk into the rocks.
I unloaded our gear and headed back for more. After I cleared the marina I could see Roy on the sandbar messing around with his camera, I hit the beach and we reloaded the kayak. It was Royâs turn to paddle, so I hung out on the sandbar and watched him slowly get swallowed the by the darkness. I walked between the sea wall and the bridge pylons with a watchful eye on the solitary red light moving through the water.
He returned minutes later with a big grin on his faceâ¦apparently he was just as excited as I am about this adventure. We load the remaining few items and both pile back in for our 3rd and last trip. The crossing goes even faster with both of us behind the wheel and we soon clamber on shore to find our campsite. Now, everyone has been on a trip and forgotten something, rightâ¦? Well, I soon figured out what I had forgotten, the map of the island. D-oh! I knew the shape and orientation of the island, I knew generally where the trails were, but I just couldnât remember where the campsites were. When we climbed the stairs we found ourselves in the picnic area with what seemed like a large field in front of us. We figured we didnât have much else to do, so we began exploring the island looking for the campsites, with nothing but headlamps.
The grass was damp and the quarter moon was hiding behind mostly cloudy skies. Barren white trees stood in stark rows, their grotesque figures glowing in the dim light of the open fieldâ¦mere skeletons of their summer glory waiting for spring. Halfway through what we figured was an apple orchard, Roy began to see eyes glowing in the dark on the fringes of the grass. I stopped to look and sure enough, four pairs of eyes calmly looked back at us. Some stared at us, some continue foraging. At first we figured they were raccoons, then a few raised their heads about 4 feet of the ground. We giggled nervously convincing ourselves that they must be deer and moved on through the wet lumpy ground. Our headlamps only pierced the damp air for a few feet, but we were able to make out old farm equipment, a cabin, a garden and a large windmill standing watch over the apple trees.
I had a brief flash to my childhood, remembering the Jonny Appleseed story, the lyrics somehow found their way into my head, use this link if you want them in YOUR head too! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_IrdS-zu48) The popular image of Johnny Appleseed had him spreading apple seeds randomly, everywhere he went. In fact, he planted nurseries rather than orchards, built fences around them to protect them from livestock, left the nurseries in the care of a neighbor who sold trees on shares, and returned every year or two to tend the nursery. But, the fact that they were here on a random island made me think of him, I held back a whistle to save Roy the torture and we stumbled on through the dark.
We found a sign to the campground and began to make our way there. We crossed a small bridge and I stopped. I said that if we were going to go this far we might as well carry something with us. So we headed back to gather some stuff. I told Roy to load the kayak back up and that I would meet him on shore near the campground, thus limiting the slogging back and forth. Well, things didnât quite work out that way. I ended up not finding a way to the beach and Roy ended up paddling the length of the island 3 times before we met up again. I was tired and hot, he was having fun paddling but worried about me. We eventually found the trail to the water and stared to make ourselves at home. It was after midnight by the time we got camp set so we made some coffee with baileys and headed to bed.
Morning came early, as it often does while camping, and we were up before 9am. Bob and Lyle were close while we were having our morning coffee and gave us a call. I left a few minutes later to meet up with them back on the mainland and help them get stuff to the island. The sun had broken through the clouds early and we had a bright sunny morning on the water. The crossing was uneventful except for a single seal that was lounging on the dock. He raised his head for a minute as we passed by, then went back to lounging in the sun. Roy was waiting for us on shore and took some good shots of the OutVentures Flotilla as it approached the island.
We moved camp to fit both tents in one site and had some lunch. After lunch we took a nice paddle around the island, cameras clicking away. The tide was coming in so we had a nice workout heading north, but then a nice paddle/drift heading back south. Roy got a great shot of a Kingfisher leaping to flight and lots of fun shots of us on the water. Bob and I decided weâd had enough and headed back to shore while Roy and Lyle sprinted across the channel and did some more exploring.
There was more coffee and hot chocolate in camp before we hit the trail to explore and circumnavigate the island, on foot this time. It was a nice walk of about 45 minutes, the hightlight being a pair of deer that let us get within feet of them as we walked by on the trail.
Twilight found us relaxing in camp, so we lit our fire and settled in for the evening. We walked to shore for sunset, which gave us a breathtaking view of Mt. Rainier. Dinner came-and-went by the fire with fellowship and lots of laughter. We broke out the game I had brought with me, Dread Pirate, and pretended we were rotten pirate captains, raiding ports, attacking ships and getting treasures from Hope Islandâ¦I mean, Dread Island. It was a fun parallel for us paddling around and almost ramming each other in our kayaks. All that was missing was the rum and a little swashbuckling!
The rain returned on Sunday for a soggy return to the mainland, a not-so unexpected end to our trip. The four of us headed to Olympia for a well deserved meal before heading back to Seattle. Thanks to Roy, Bob and Lyle for joining me on this trip, I will never for get it!
AAArrrrgg! Are ye the feared Dread Pirate?
Jeff (some of these photo's are Roy's and some are mine)
6 of us ventured out to Commonwealth Basin in 2 cars. (Tom, Ray, Gary, Fred, Michael and myself) We left Seattle in a warm and sunny morning and arrived at the Pass in a winter wonderland. It was 26 at the Pass and low clouds that hung around the mountains. The roads were bare and easy to drive on but the 10ft. tall snow banks on the side were pretty impressive.
It took us about 90 mins to snowshoe 2.5 miles to the top. It was easy to follow the groomed trail up and we met a lot of friendly folks and dogs along the way. Though there were a few small creek crossings, nobody got wet. Towards the top you could see and actually feel the fog as it clung to the mountain. The Evergreen branches looked magical as the frozen moisture took on an animate appearance.
We had lunch on top where visibility was about 100 ft. After some photo ops, it was a quick hike back down to the trailhead.
Two things that I learned from this trip. Always keep an eye on your poles:-) That one cost me a scary walk over unsteady snow to retrieve mine. Secondly, I shouldn't turn around to talk as I'm snowshoeing down a trail. Because I quickly end up face first in the snow:-)
The guys in my car stopped for some warm refreshments on the way home in North Bend. Since we were so close to the Outlets, we agreed that we just had to stop. Causing us to shop, shop and shop:-)
A nice ending to a fun day! I hope to lead another trip to Keechulus Ridge in a couple of weeks.
Dec. 23rd was a beautiful, clear, crisp evening. 10 of us gathered at Gasworks to watch the Christmas ships and kayaks arrive in Lake Union. The boats arrived a little early. The crowd was still gathering. A girls choir provided music from the lead ship. The north end of the lake filled with illuminated vessels. Hmmm... how do you provide power for lights on a kayak? It is a cool sight to see. I will post a few pictures.
Roy V
Dec. 23rd was a beautiful, clear, crisp evening. 10 of us gathered at Gasworks to watch the Christmas ships and kayaks arrive in Lake Union. The boats arrived a little early. The crowd was still gathering. A girls choir provided music from the lead ship. The north end of the lake filled with illuminated vessels. Hmmm... how do you provide power for lights on a kayak? It is a cool sight to see. I will post a few pictures.
Roy V
Our trip was blessed early on with a cloudless, dry afternoon for loading all our gear. However, the 4 hour trip to Kalaloch took us 5.5 hours with southbound traffic through Federal Way, Tacoma and a dinner stop in Elma. On and off rain accented the dark trip through the rolling hills and pines to the pacific. We began to see evidence of a stormy day a few miles from Queets as leaves, branches and other debris were being sprinkled on the roadway.
There were few vehicles on the road and it was easy to get the feeling they knew something that we didnâtâ¦or at least something we were ignoring. We knew we were close to the coast as the wind picked up, shoving the truck around. We pulled in to the Olympic National Parkâs Kalaloch Campground at about 9:30pm and we werenât entirely certain what weâd find there.
What we found were several RVâs facing into the wind and one other tent, huddled safely behind the stunted trees. We drove around several loops looking for the best site with the most protection. We jumped in and out of the truck like little kids, commenting and debating about where the tent and tarps could go as if the wind, rain and gale werenât even there!
We settled on site F7 and put about the unenviable task of setting up camp in the rain at almost 10 oâclock at night. We would later discover that F9 would have been the perfect site, so we made a mental note for the next storm camping trip. All said and done we had a VERY small fire made up mostly of a few fire starters to warm our now numb hands as we waited for some hot chocolate. It turns out that rum and hot chocolate arenât that bad after all.
We slept very well that night with the sound of the pounding surf and blustery winds screaming their lullaby at us and at least four inches of foam mattress beneath us. We slept so good, in fact, that I didnât wake up till at least 10:30 in the morning. And for those of you who know me, thatâs saying something! Maybe there was a bit more rum than chocolateâ¦
Coffee, a morning fire and an amazing breakfast of bacon and eggs started around 11ish, the sound of the surf calling to us all the while. (Note to self, Roy is a great camp cook) I would challenge any of these so-called âIron Chefâsâ to cook perfect bacon and eggs outside on a Coleman camp stove in the middle of a Pacific coast storm. Well, done chefâ¦well done!
After breakfast we took some layers off, put others on, cinched and tucked, snapped and zipped, and finally Velcroed ourselves up in our âwaterproofâ suits and waddled off toward the beach in the rain, wind and cold. Someone said this is FUN, right? For anyone whoâs not yet been to the western coast of the Olympic Peninsula, you are denying yourself a special treat. Iâll admit that visiting in the middle of a storm is not the ideal time for a first visit; however, the next chance you get spend a day exploring. You will not regret it.
The peninsula is high in the center, with Mt. Olympus at 7,965ft and flattens out until it reaches the ocean. Most of the western shoreline ends abruptly at craggy, rock and root strewn cliffs that can plummet fifty feet or more to the waters edge. The Pacific is ever at work here, gnawing away slowly at the land. Sea Stacks and rough coastlines are the result.
We walk toward the roar of the surf which can be heard throughout the campground. The closer we get to the sound the stronger the wind gets, it gusts and furls over the cliff edge knocking us off stride and blowing our rain hoods back. The trees and shrubs are all stunted by the constant wind here and cower close to the ground in thick dense masses. As we near the edge of the cliff there is an odd sound. As the now bare thickets resist the force of wind, they shiver back and forth and make a sound like wind blowing through a sieve. Trees overhead creak and moan, some even grind against one another dropping bits of bark to the saturated ground. Instinct tells you itâs all a warningâ¦go no further.
The smell of the ocean and the force of wind induce an instant need to inhale. There is nothing quite like the smell of air wiped clean by the grand power of a pacific coast storm. We make our way down the muddy, slippery edge, toward the tumble of drift logs below. A slip here would have been messy, but not fatal as the drop was slopped in a way that would have cushioned the fall. It is only later, after our exploits, did we find the paved trail downâ¦
The shore line was littered with fallen giants that once threw their crowns hundreds of feet in the air. It was sad to see them laying here, waiting for decay or the next high tide to carry them off. Like crossing a busy street to avoid traffic, we look both ways before proceeding toward the high tide line, amazed at the number of trees in both directions. It reminded me of a game I used to play; I called it âpick-up-sticksâ. Every step here is from tree to tree, and is a calculated risk. Water, algae, and mold combine to create a slippery recipe for disaster for the hurried or unbalanced. Most logs have been stripped of branches, but some remain, and a good skewering or concussion awaits the careless. Drift logs CAN kill, either by crushing you after being tossed about in high tide or simply by slipping on them. Fun, right?
The surf roars before us, sea foam stuck to the sand is being slowly blown in giant masses across the beach, they are blobs of foamy, churned up water that must be played with. The horizon, dark and ominous forces you to gaze into its depth and second guess the wisdom of being there in the first place. A storm is coming and we wait, perched on slippery logs for it to find us.
We begin to wander the beach with one eye on the mischievous waves and the other on the sky. Where there is just sand the waves creep up on you silently, waiting for an opportunity to gush inside your boots. Where the beach is rocky there is a sound that is difficult to describe. As the water retreats it pulls thousands of pebbles and rocks with it down the beach, a massive gurgle and sizzle muffled by foam and water follows it down the beach. The rubble caught in the tidal zone, is wet and shiny and glints in the dim light of the storm. They meld into a patchwork pattern of ovals and grays and your eyes, confused by the soft pattern, quickly focuses on the whites of quartz or the calico of conglomerates.
Like most, as we walk the beach we secretly hope to find some lost or hidden treasure that the ocean has decided to bestow. As we cross logs and jump to avoid waves, we are forever watching for that shinny object from the corner of our eye. Sadly, we mostly find plastic water bottles, chunks of styrofoam and bits of rope. I was surprised and glad at the lack of other types of trash that I have seen so frequently in the past.
As the storm hits, not wishing to tempt fate, we find higher ground. Wind precedes hail and rain and as I record a gust of 37.5 miles per hour my eye glances skyward. Somehow the magic of flight is still possible for sea birds who have mastered the wind. They dance among the waves, picking confused fish from the whitewater seemingly oblivious to that which sends us seeking safety.
A side trip to Ruby Beach provided no less wonder than expected. Sea Stacks born from the battle between water, wind and rock stand defiantly against the ever pulsing tide. There are more tourists here, willing to brave the wind and rain for the 2 minute walk to the shore before they run back giggling and screaming. The humble will fall into a trance or some other form of reverence at the scene before them, the rest jump and jumble about the logs, simply excited to be out of the car.
The stacks are massive and some the size of islands. It is hard to think that in a mere few thousand years, they may dissolve back into the earth. Off in the distance a small line breaks the horizontal relief of the horizon. It is the lighthouse on Destruction Island. Knowing its history gives special meaning to the dark and stormy view we had of the island that day.
In 1775, while at anchor under the lee of the island, the Spanish explorer Juan Francisco de la Bodega y Quadra, commander of the schooner Sonora, sent seven men ashore for wood and water. Upon landing, the entire party was killed by Indians, prompting Bodega y Quadra to name the island "Isla de Dolores," Isle of Sorrow. The British ship Imperial Eagle visited the island in 1787 and dispatched a long boat to explore the nearby coast. During the exploration, the crew rowed some distance up a river where they too were massacred by hostile Indians. Charles W. Barkley, captain of the Imperial Eagle, named the river Destruction. The name was eventually transferred to the nearby island, and the river was called by its Indian name Hoh.
Construction on the Destruction Island Lighthouse began in 1888. The island was proposed as a site for a lighthouse years earlier, but a shortage of funds and shifting priorities delayed the project. The 30-acre, tabletop island rises roughly eighty feet above the surrounding water and is bordered by steep bluffs.
Itâs dark, faint profile adds a sense of mystery and wonder to any who stroll along the shore. Another OutVentures member Anna, said she wished she could have come, if for no other reason to stand with her face in the storm and shout, âHeathcliff!â Emily Bronteâs description of winter and weather on the moors certainly compares to our experience and remained with me throughout the weekend.
The rain and wind kept my camera inside my coat most of time, so I donât believe the pictures presented of this trip truly do it justice. However, any trip to the peninsula is never disappointing to me and I will surely return again for another stormy experience. I hope you will join me.
Slideshow:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7710039@N08/sets/72157622878072540/show/
Set:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7710039@N08/sets/72157622878072540/
Jeff K