It’s not the Winter Olympics. It’s the Olympics in Winter.
Most people think of coming out to the Olympic Peninsula in the heat (used loosely) of summer. Most people – meaning, lots of people. Lots and lots.
If you want to really experience the solitude of the rainforest, go in winter.
This is an interesting year. We had a deep freeze and some snow in November, along with some deadly storms – but then things warmed up. A pineapple express wind blew through here the other night with gusts reported (or was that just expected?) of 115 mph up on Hurricane Ridge. We can expect that at a place called “Hurricane.” Here in the lowlands, still pretty strong. The immediate result, compounded with recent rains, was melting snow that turned the rivers into gushing torrents of murk.
We took advantage of a window in the weather on a Sunday afternoon and decided to take the short hike up to the Olympic Hot Springs. I have not been up this way in several years, primarily because the disrespectful crowds of people in the summer make it highly unsanitary and because in the winter, we usually have so much snow, the Park closes the access road. You have to get the timing right: either before crowds/after snow or after crowds/before snow.
It’s not a difficult hike – it takes about an hour each way – a gentle incline along an old road that is undercut and washed out in several places. A few creeks to hop rocks across; others to take a makeshift log bridge. Mother Nature may eventually hide the scars of the road, but we are reminded asphalt is forever.
We timed it right: people were leaving as we were coming in. Surprisingly enough, quite a few locals were coming in as we were leaving, and whether or not they had headlamps, I don’t know, but I don’t think the log crossings would be all that easy in the dark. While we were there, though,we basically had the whole place to ourselves.
We step into the pool. We are naked in a pristine forest, where the moss drips down from the rocks and trees, a steam rises from the water with the faint smell of sulphur, trees reach overhead to inhale the vapors. It is unbelievably warm. Any annoyances of the day quickly dissipate. It is somehow ethereal, this moment in time where time stands still. I let it envelop me. We emerge relaxed but energized. On the walk out, a gentle rain begins to fall, first as a mist, then as light droplets…. it feels good. Refreshing. Clean. I am reminded why I live here.