Olympic NP: Where the Rainforest meets the Shoreline

We cruised over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge at 11:25 a.m. — the same bridge that famously bucked itself apart in 1940 — but thankfully this time it stayed put. By 2:15 p.m., we were rolling past the Olympic National Park welcome sign, officially crossing into rainforest-meets-mountain-meets-coast wonderland.

Hurricane Ridge or Hurricane Road Trip?

First stop: Lake Crescent. That glassy, glacier-carved lake shimmered like a sapphire dropped in the forest. From there we hustled up to Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center to score my passport stamp, maps, and a ranger newsletter (because I hoard those like a squirrel with acorns).

The place was buzzing; tourists everywhere, rangers fielding questions like air-traffic controllers. One ranger asked, “Do you know where you’re stayin’ tonight?” My blank stare answered for me. Lodges? Booked. Campsites? Packed. Options? Slim. She suggested Heart O’ the Hills Campground, tucked right off the twisty road up to Hurricane Ridge.

That road is 17 miles of switchbacks and white-knuckle curves. By the time we reached the ridge; 5,242 feet high, battered in winter by winds that hit actual hurricane speeds — the midday sun was glaring so hard I couldn’t see much. Photos? Washed out. Views? Blinding. Note to self: Hurricane Ridge is probably better at sunrise, sunset, or literally any other time than the blazing middle of the day.

Port Angeles Vibes

On the way down, we scoped the campground. Sites were crammed together like sardines — not our jam. So, we skipped it and pointed the van toward Port Angeles, the park’s gateway town. It’s half working harbor (think timber, ferries, fishing boats) and half crunchy basecamp for hikers, cruise-ship day-trippers, and brewery hunters.

We wedged into a restaurant parking lot after stalking spaces like sharks. The meal? Meh. The view? Redeeming. By the end of dinner, we decided to grab a Super 8. Not glamorous, but sometimes you just need four walls and a mattress.

That night I remembered: “Life is a long song.” Expectations + rushing = disappointment. But coasting along, letting the story unfold? That’s where the good stuff hides.

Lake Crescent & A Bit of Magic

Next morning we swung back past Lake Crescent. The water sparkled; the day felt lighter. At Peak 6 Adventure Store, a neon flannel caught my eye — only in large, so I bought it for Alan. He actually smiled. Progress! The shop ladies pointed us toward the Hard Rain Café for camping and grub.

We detoured for a short hike to Marymere Falls; a mossy, tree-root-strewn 1.5 miles. Alan joined me, even though halfway up he tapped out on the stairs, saying, “You go on, I’ll wait.” When I looped back, he’d rallied and made it to the falls anyway. Teamwork, with a dash of stubborn.

Into the Hoh

We pressed on to the Hoh Rainforest. I walked the Hall of Mosses; neon lichens, moss-draped giants, fallen trees transformed into living carpets. The ranger summed it up: “Trees fall all the time.” In the Hoh, even decay looks enchanted.

We set up camp at Hard Rain Café — burgers on the porch, chatting with Seattle travelers. But when we went to convert our van’s couches into a bed, nada. Dead switch. La Mesa RV and Thor customer service? Closed. Solution? Sleep sideways on the couches. I was fine. Alan? Not so much — he stayed up all night Googling fuse fixes.

Fairyland Trails & Twilight Towns

The next morning, coffee in hand (thank you, Nespresso), we did a few shorter trails. Spruce Nature Trail smelled like Christmas and cinnamon. At “Land of the Legends” we stumbled onto Carl Fisher’s 1970s commune cabin, plus a 12-point buck straight out of a fairy tale. Forks was next — yes, that Forks, home of Twilight. No vampires in sight, just a town cashing in on its movie fame.

Burgers, Beaches, and Driftwood Cathedrals

Rialto Beach gave Kodi her sprint time in the surf. At La Push, we tracked down a rogue food truck, The Salty Heifer’s Burger Shack. Alan got the “Mini Moo.” I got the “Messy Bessie,” then caved and ordered the Captain’s Plate after seeing everyone else devour it. Stuffed and happy, we swapped road stories with other dog people.

Then Ruby Beach — cinematic driftwood piles, tide pools crawling with crabs and starfish, garnet-speckled sand sparkling like glitter. Wild. Raw. Totally worth it.

The Tree of Life

Final stop: Kalaloch. We searched everywhere for the famous “Tree of Life.” Dead ends. Wrong trail. Finally, a bartender spilled the secret: Loop A at the campground, walk 100 yards. And there it was. Roots exposed, dangling like a giant’s beard, still clinging to life despite gravity, erosion, and the odds. A miracle tree straight out of Disney.

The lodge was full, campsites sold out, so we pushed on. Aberdeen? Full. By 11:30 p.m., we rolled into Lacey, just outside Olympia, and collapsed at a Comfort Inn.

Lesson Learned

Olympic National Park taught me this: sometimes the best stories come from the detours — the broken bed switches, the mediocre meals, the burger shacks you stumble upon, the trees that defy the rules. Don’t suck the lemon. Make the lemonade. Then raise a messy, salty, moss-covered toast to the road.

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