Dungeness Spit

Recently, my sister and brother-in-law were in town visiting so Kelly and I thought it would be fun for all of us to drive over to the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge, located about an hour’s drive from our house. 

In my opinion, the main attraction of the refuge is a long extension of land mass known as the Dungeness Spit.  At just over 5.5-miles (8.9 km) in length, this sand spit juts out from the northern edge of the Olympic Peninsula, into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

It seems that this spit is in fact the longest natural sand spit in the United States. Its land area, according to the United States Census Bureau is 1,271,454 square meters (0.4909 sq mi, or 314.18 acres). 

Not content to rest upon its laurels, this lengthy land mass continues to swell, little by little, day be day.  Literally extending itself 5 miles into the seas, the spit has unassumingly stretched its crooked finger into the strait at roughly of 15 feet per year for the past 120 years.

I was wondering why the spit continues to grow, rather than slowly wash away in the incessant waves crashing all around. 

Much to my surprise, erosion is kept at bay due to complex winds, waves, and importantly, the eroding neighboring bluffs to the southwest. 

Water is a formidable opponent, and these seemingly mighty bluffs have no choice but to surrender themselves to the relentless and never-ending waves.  Slowly, yet with all the will of a heavyweight champ, the waves eventually overcome the bluffs, their pounding effective like well placed body blows to the torso.  The resulting KO seems inevitable.

Defeated, the sediment of the eroded bluffs simply fall victim to the tidal currents and before they know what has happened, find themselves anchored alongside the spit, hence a catalyst and material for growth.  Then, as elsewhere in nature, the process repeats itself.

Collaborating in the spit’s advancement are the strong northeast gusts, which reverse shore drift; the process corroborating nature’s will.  In this case forming the Graveyard Spit ‘hook’.

During our visit, park staff told us that many, if not most visitors do walk the short route to the base of the spit, but only a small percentage of these same visitors actually extend their hike to the lighthouse located near the end of the spit (presumably, in 1858 the lighthouse was at the end of the spit).

Having completed the journey myself, I now appreciate why many do not advance to the lighthouse.  It’s not that the trek to the lighthouse is terribly difficult; it’s just that a 10-mile hike is simply that - 10 miles. 

Moreover, tides have a major impact on the walking surface of the spit, and depending upon when one starts out, the path will be hard-packed sand, or it won’t.  We got the benefit of mostly hard pack on the way out, but coming back a high tide forced us to navigate atop deep sand and rocks.

the walk back

wood litters the area

wood up close

being a wildlife refuge, birds are everywhere

flying away

It is also worth noting that the salt water has an odd way of transforming itself to salty air.  At one point it hit me that I was covered in salt sediment - my sunglasses and camera lenses taking an unfair share of the punishment.

All in all, the trip to Dungeness Spit was a very good day trip and I highly recommend others take time to visit.

Maybe if you are lucky, you might spot a nuclear submarine headed to the Pacific Ocean … we did.

Marmot Pass

Officially, this quintessential Olympic Peninsula trail makes an excellent day hike, but I spent the night.  My friend Brian was especially keen to take sunset and sunrise photos, so it seemed best to bring a tent and enjoy a night atop Marmot Pass.

Basic details of Marmot Pass are pretty straightforward: 3500 feet at the trailhead, rising to 6000 feet at the pass; a 10.6-mile round trip journey great views, etc.  

Blah, blah, blah. 

In my mind, the book details are simply that – two-dimensional text.  Real high-definition appreciation comes only when one takes a walk along the pass trail itself.

The trail enters the Buckhorn Wilderness straight away, and for the first two miles Brian and I hiked amongst towering old growth peacefully progressing adjacent to the Big Quilcene River.  At 2.5 miles in, we came reached Shelter Rock Camp, a nice enough intermediate campsite I suppose, especially if you have small children, but Brian and I had our sights focused higher up the mountain.  After a few pleasantries with others at this lower encampment along with quick check of our map, we affixed Shelter Camp and the thick canopy of gigantic trees squarely to our rearview mirror.

Progressing through the next two miles, the trail climbed in and out of forested patches, but seemingly made its home mostly in small, enchanted meadows. 

The trail climbs steadily the entire way, but it never too steep, provided you have some base fitness to draw from coupled with solid footing.  However, I did have a hard time keeping up Brian at times.  Whether it be on foot or bicycle, he simply loves to go ascend, and relishes any opportunity to do so, our ascent no exception. 

To be honest, I think he took special pleasure in emphatically demonstrating his superior hiking strength.  But in my defense, Brian posses a secret training weapon which with I cannot compete – mainly his incessant carrying of a toddler atop his shoulders. 

Getting back to the trail … approximately 4.5 miles from the trailhead Camp Mystery, generously offered us a few open campsites to select from, all of which are just off the trail and conveniently next to an endless supply of ice-cold water.  

Having selected out site, dripping in sweat, and definitely ready for dinner, we wasted no time setting-up camp and preparing our cuisine of instant Lentil soup, some almonds pretzels, and hot tea.  

Following dinner we decided to wander a bit and further explore the nearby pass and take in some sunset views.  Along the way, we spotted a few secluded campsites, which we both agreed were superior to our real estate (I’ll make a note to self for next time I’m there). 

Just prior to reaching the final climb to the pass, a large open meadow takes the trail the rest of the way up to Marmot 
Pass.  As you might imagine, the views up top are breathtaking - some of the tallest Olympic peaks, the Dungeness Valley, Hood Canal, the Cascades and more. 

Similar to the two-dimensional text I previewed prior to my arrival, the enclosed pictures to not serve this area justice.  Given the opportunity, you to should capture your very own high-definition experiences.

I’m quite certain your experience atop Marmot Pass will be as good as mine.

Brian's digital appendage  

Good Stuff

Damn, this is a good strawberry smoothie.

Another Crack At An Old Foe

Empathizing with my dysfunctional and magnetic pull with Ironman, Kelly recently (and graciously) provided her nod of approval of my request to sign-up for another full distance triathlon.  So, with her endorsement in hand, I promptly registered for what will be my fifth full distance tri – the 2010 Ironman Couer d’Alene (IMCDA).  

My good buddies Bill and John will also partake in the event; their presence upping the ante, adding additional purpose to this race.   

Bill, John and I are longtime pals, but as Bill lives in Charlotte and John in Chicago, I do not get to see either often and it will be great to spend four or five days with them next June.  In an attempt to create additional drama and other nonsense during the race build-up, the three of us will especially enjoy what is sure to be an abundant exchange of trash-talking throughout the next year.  I cannot wait.

Previously, the three of us competed together at IMCDA in 2006 and this time around things should be quite different for all.  That ’06 race was Bill’s first crack at the Ironman distance and his focus, wisely, was simply to finish feeling good.  John had a broken toe which limited his superb bike power and reduced his otherwise strong run to an awkward walk.  Not to be spared, I suffered incredibly in the oven-like temperatures, the heat reducing my effort to pathetic at itmes.

Redemption was had in 2008 however as the three of us regrouped once again, this time at Ironman Wisconsin,  an endeavor proving to be a great success as each of us crossed the finish line feeling good and with personal best times in hand.  Looking ahead towards 2010 IMCDA, I am expecting another solid day for all of us, especially Bill.  While still the Ironman baby of our trio, he has now twice finished the race and and will come armed with tremendous experience and confidence in his ability to conquer the 140.6 mile course.  

After IM Wisconsin.  John and Bill with me - the tallest and fastest

(photo courtesy of John)

As one would expect, at both IMCDA and Wisconsin, I consistently prove to be the better athlete (such status was never largely debated), bettering the times of both John and Bill.  I expect to once again sit atop the podium and will enjoy watching Bill and John battle to be first loser. 

Boys, you had better bring your A-game, cuz I intend to bring the heat in about 10:45.  

Getting Your Food On

People like to eat. We’ve all had moments wherein we should have put that fork down a few bites earlier than we did, myself included. But for a certain confederacy of dunces, the ills of their full bellies are not easily placated with the simple loosening of a belt notch … or two.

A week ago, many Americans took pause to celebrate Independence Day. Typically, such celebration includes a bit of barbecue, a few firecrackers, and perhaps even lemonade and apple pie. But for some, the July 4th holiday would not be complete without astonishing amounts of food consumption. I’m talking crazy amounts of food.

At this year’s annual July 4th Nathan’s Hot Dog eating contest - broadcast live via ESPN – a raucous crowd forty-thousand strong cheered - and perhaps gagged- as Joey Chestnut literally stuffed himself with silly. Fueled by euphoria and lack of good judgment, Chestnut (wait for this…) set a world record by chomping sixty-eight hot dogs (yes, sixty-eight) during a ten-minute “contest” period.

I hope he had a comfortable toilet; I imagine he needed it.

Actually, Chestnut and others are professional eaters aligned to the International Federation of Competitive Eating. The Nathan’s contest being just one of many stops along the circus that is the Major League Eating tour. (don’t even get me started as to whether or not eating is ‘sport’ and worthy of league sanctioning)

What is it about this grotesque intake of food that compels so many to abate better judgment, only to conclude that such consumption might
possibly be a good idea?

As I begin to firmly settle into life here in Seattle, I try to convince myself that we in the PNW appreciate food more so than mainstream America. I like to believe we are not foolish and gluttonous, abusive of cuisine.

I was wrong.

Imagine my horror when recently, while reading a local newspaper, I stumbled across an article featuring some knucklehead reporter hell-bent on besting the “ten pound hamburger challenge”.

To be precise, the ten-pound challenge is a bit misleading in that the challenge consists of two objectives really; a single five-pound monster cheeseburger, besieged by five pounds of greasy French-fries.

click the image above to see video of the 10-pound burger challenge

Considering a tango with this burger mistress? Perhaps you had better watch the video above before you judge your potential cholesterol inducing ballroom partner. Assuming you proceed, and if you can clean your plate spotless in less than an hour, the meal is gratis. Need more enticement - the chef will hang your picture on the “Wall of Fame” next to all the other jokers who happened to conquer the burger and fries mountain before your successful summit. Finally, with your belly full and aching, you also take home a $25 gift certificate for, get this, more meat from a local butcher.

I wonder why so many of us are overweight and diabetic?

Two Wheels Is Better Than Four

About a year and a half ago, Kelly and I decided that we could use additional motorized support. Rather than purchase a second car, we opted for scooters.

As long as I can remember, I’ve always found enjoyment riding a bicycle, its beauty being its simplicity. But never having owned scooter, the bicycle's motorized cousin, I was cautiously optimistic, not sure what to anticipate. I struggled vigorously to keep my high expectations in check.

Here I am now, almost two thousand miles later, completely satisfied in my scooter purchase. There has been no buyer’s remorse on my part. If I were a bit more arrogant in action, I just might shred the purchase receipt, emphatically symbolizing my intent to keep this black beauty indefinitely.

I quite enjoy the whoosh of wind splashing my face, zigging and zagging gracefully atop her mighty little wheels, tires gripping the road as if she owns the asphalt. The Vespa LX150 is quite possibly the biggest little bike on the boulevard.

It would be better only if I were riding in Italy.

Pure bliss.

Reincarnation

So I’ve begun to look at material goods a bit differently.  Sort of.

That is to say, as I am able, and more often than not, I find certain fulfillment in the recycle and reuse of stuff as it is feasible and worthy.

As it were, my neighbor (and good pal) Anne offered Kelly and me an opportunity to reclaim some cedar wood planks she was looking to unload.  The offer was not without some strings attached though, as the cedar was actually in the shape of a shed - firmly anchored deep within the depths of Anne's far backyard.

the shed resting peacefully, unaware of the pending pandemonium 

Due to the shed’s position, some skilful calculation and demolition was needed to raze the structure without causing damage to the valuable, aged and weathered cedar.  Being the yin and yang duo we are - Kelly in possession of intellect and I of brawn - controlled chaos quickly ensued and we made steady progress, slowly obliterating what must have been years worth of yard waste in and around the shed.

At times, some unanticipated obstacles presented us with slight setbacks.  Yet, equipped with a ferocious reciprocating saw, a crowbar, and a mighty two-pound maul hammer, I would not be denied.  I was peacefully in my element.

With great satisfaction and without too much labor or examination, the demolition was completed.  Before we knew it, our trailer was loaded with fabulous cedar fit for its new purpose, a future not yet fully known.

It is said that centuries ago, Europeans explorers symbolically lit their ships - a most valuable asset  aflame upon reaching the shores of the new world.  Such an action emphasized to all the need for collective success within their new destination.  So to it was for Kelly and me - there was to be no turning back now, the morphing of the shed was underway.   Failure was not an option.

As a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly, this humble shed shall was reinvented into flower boxes and stands, proudly hoisting and housing flowers and herbs.

much better perched at eye level - up off the deck surface

look closely - most of the original galvanized nails were salvaged

dill, chives, oregano, & parsley 

another herb box, but currently filled with bush flowers

On the whole, Kelly and I are really happy with the outcome.