The Olympic

 The Olympic

Mountain range, that is, and a glorious National Park.

A campsite on the ocean: tide pools full of strange creatures, exotic to a Wisconsinite.

Walked the sea-stacked beach along the breaking surf roaring through the mist.

Invited a couple to share our view of the sun setting over the Pacific.

Another campsite on the Hoh, a rainforest river with headwaters high on a Mt. Olympus glacier.

The water, a slate-blue, colored by sediments of rock pulverized by the power of ice.

As usual, Pisces-me had to take a plunge in the bracing-cold water.

Hiked the rain forest trail where every plant had another species growing on it,

Which had a third species growing on the second one.

An incredible array of life watered daily by moisture-laden mist from the ocean,

And rainfall stopped in its tracks by the mountain range to the east.

Returned to our river site to find two elk a short distance upstream.

Left the forest for another site on salt water, the Strait of Juan De Fuca, 

Set-up camp and headed for a hike at Hurricane Ridge.

Saw there the magnificent Olympics and a mountain goat.

Celebrated Patti’s birthday with a meal of Dungeness crab and another spectacular sunset.