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Trevor Member
Joined: 31 Jan 2004 Posts: 1562 | TRs | Pics Location: Edmonds, WA |
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Trevor
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Tue Mar 20, 2007 3:42 pm
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The rain, each individual drop, serves to wipe away some glorious framework. Everything is open to a unique interpretation. You can see a smite degree of sun amidst a wall of clouds in the forecast, and gradually add layer upon layer upon a mental visualization of coastal splendor. The sun scintillating in tide pools, the beach reflecting a dominant seastack, the sun caressing the colors of the starfish, it’s all in your head from the outset. You think, even with the possibility of it being gray, something epic will be revealed under a new light. The rain dances on the windshield. Perhaps by the next town things will improve. You pass Port Angeles. You pass Blyn. You pass Discovery Bay. Your optimism becomes fueled by a brief break in the clouds. You pass Sequim. When you hit Forks, the conditions are still dreary. You begin to question whether the trip justifies the finances. The glorious framework that you once built, you piece by piece begin to deconstruct. With the new stripped vision, nearly anything brings you satisfaction. With a smaller bubble for your joy, you reach its edges consistently. When that vast and sweeping beauty is nullified, the smaller elements begin to glow for your enjoyment.
We step down in the sand on rialto. The sodden beach consumes half of my shoe with each step. Under gray skies we seek out starfish; their intensified colors prominent from a distance; their clustered arrangements beckoning the artistic eye. Under gray skies we see urchins and mussels. Under gray skies we see interesting patterns displayed in the rockery. The fog sweeps in and shrouds the tops of the trees. The tall trees, the jutting seas stacks, the way verticality is magnified at such a low elevation. The rocks are pummeled by waves from each direction. A large swell of water forces a seagull to take flight and land on an adjacent rock. Everything always there: the seagulls, the rocks, the waves; all just temporarily relocating. How we all occupy one general area and reposition ourselves consistently-- the illusion of change. We take photos until being under gray skies renders the area as too dark.
I step into the momentarily cheese-omelette bliss. Prolonging the enjoyment until it's digested. Pleasurably consume, become hungry, repeat. The waitress hands us our receipt, signaling the end to our connection. She cheerfully seats a new family; starts a new connection. Today the rain is even more profuse than yesterday, and ten degrees colder; but we head out into the woods believing something will take the stage; something will shine. How can you thoroughly enjoy something without sacrificing for it. We pass Clallam Bay. We pass Sekiu. The river leads brown-tinted water into the ocean. Moss-laden boats and accessories cover the beach near Neah Bay. Boats, drift wood, the residents--things just float into the town and nothing is removed. We acquire our Makah permits. An overweight woman at the register justifies her ignorance on a certain topic to a man in a fishermen’s hat by saying: “I just sell cancer sticks for a living.” Everyone just floats into these jobs, and no one knows why. The occupying the register, the serving the food, the routine, it all becomes ingrained within you; you can’t let it go. With a smaller bubble for your joy, you reach its edges consistently. The town looks like any town that is subjected to 100+ plus inches of rain a year. Everything is too moss covered to upkeep. I can feel the moss begin to develop on my mood. We trek on mud. We trek on foliage. A pool of water collects on a fern and is dispensed to the ground below. We reach the view from Cape Flattery; a view that was designed for the images in a glorious framework; but the water and the trees are colorful under gray skies. The rain is too consistent for the cowering camera. We pass Lake Ozette. We see large herds of elk quizzically looking at us as we leave to end the day. They bend down and lift grass from the ground below. We pass the Hungry Bear Café.
There is a small degree of sun thrown into the forecast for today. We foresee the bright sun scintillating in the tide pools at Ruby Beach. We’ll take anything after yesterday. A sign reads: “big cedar” and points down a road that curves around the corner. Everything is open to a unique interpretation. We trudge on moss. We trudge on decrepit logs. Erosive Salmon lift their tails out of the air with their remaining might as they attempt to muscle up the lucid creek. We drive down the Quinault road looking for tree symmetry. We stop at Falls Creek Falls. We stop at Merriman Falls. People get out of their cars; don’t communicate with each other, eye the scenery, then leave. We climb upward to get a better vantage point of the falls. Taking the step that leads to either something majestic or death. Somebody is getting interviewed via camera and microphone; nobody but them knows why. Our framework of glory at Ruby Beach makes us bypass much of the beauty of the forest--its vivid green, its symmetry. We reach Ruby Beach. Under gray skies we see the uniformity of the tide pools. Under gray skies we see the beach alive. A man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette; its output moving in the wind to the people behind him. We wait hoping for the clearing. Hoping for the actualization of our former images. Our bubbles for our joy still too large. The sky bestows rain. Everyone eyes the scenery one last time as the rain pelts them; don’t communicate with each other; get into their cars, then leave. Darkness begins to shroud the land.
You begin to head home. The rain hitting the windshield. Most of what could have been overlooked was seen. You pass the Sol Duc area. The trees appearing mysteriously beautiful under the gray skies. The light is ideal for little-roadside cascades. Under these conditions all of the individual elements take the stage; lobbying for your appreciation. When that vast and sweeping beauty is nullified, the smaller elements begin to glow for your enjoyment. You pass Lake Crescent. You pass the Purple Haze Lavender field.
Edit:
Restaurants eaten at in Forks:
The In Place
Forks Coffee Shop
Shanghai Chinese
Plaza Jalisco ( Most unorganized restaurant I have eaten at)
Subway
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Trevor Member
Joined: 31 Jan 2004 Posts: 1562 | TRs | Pics Location: Edmonds, WA |
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Trevor
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Tue Mar 20, 2007 11:10 pm
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The images I have looked through thus far:
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javman Member
Joined: 28 Jun 2005 Posts: 193 | TRs | Pics Location: Tacoma, WA |
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javman
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Tue Mar 20, 2007 11:46 pm
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Nice write-up Trevor, and beautiful images as always. I enjoyed both. I think some of the same things while driving through Forks and other small towns on the peninsula. I always wonder why no one seems to enjoy living there? They're so close to so many beautiful places. Guess it's the small-town hard-time blues.
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Trevor Member
Joined: 31 Jan 2004 Posts: 1562 | TRs | Pics Location: Edmonds, WA |
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Trevor
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Wed Mar 21, 2007 12:15 am
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javman wrote: | I always wonder why no one seems to enjoy living there? They're so close to so many beautiful places. Guess it's the small-town hard-time blues. |
Thanks Jav and Shack.
Some people naturally just don't hold an interest in nature. I've noticed that the younger residents that I've encountered seem the most jaded. Learning to enjoy simplicity is critical in those areas.
I can attest about the persistent storms, as the rain didn't stop at all on saturday.
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polecatjoe Silent but deadly
Joined: 16 Jul 2004 Posts: 1725 | TRs | Pics Location: The Forests of Lynnwood |
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polecatjoe
Silent but deadly
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Wed Mar 21, 2007 11:54 am
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Gray days like that tend to make a person spend more time looking down, rather than at the sky. Sometimes the close-ups are pretty darned interesting, too!
Great work on the details, Trevor!
"If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged." - Virginia Woolf
"If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged." - Virginia Woolf
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bballoutdoors44 Member
Joined: 24 Jan 2007 Posts: 17 | TRs | Pics Location: Pullman |
I greatly enjoyed the pics, thanks
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Tazz Member
Joined: 27 Apr 2005 Posts: 7902 | TRs | Pics
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Tazz
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Wed Mar 21, 2007 2:09 pm
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Dreary... my a$$! nice work, very nice.
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Trevor Member
Joined: 31 Jan 2004 Posts: 1562 | TRs | Pics Location: Edmonds, WA |
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Trevor
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Wed Mar 21, 2007 3:13 pm
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Thanks a bundle. I'm adding more pictures as I move through them all.
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Malachai Constant Member
Joined: 13 Jan 2002 Posts: 16088 | TRs | Pics Location: Back Again Like A Bad Penny |
A reason folks don't live in places like Forks is that it is just about impossible to make a decent living there. Only jobs are low paying service jobs.
"You do not laugh when you look at the mountains, or when you look at the sea." Lafcadio Hearn
"You do not laugh when you look at the mountains, or when you look at the sea." Lafcadio Hearn
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Sore Feet Member
Joined: 16 Dec 2001 Posts: 6304 | TRs | Pics Location: Out There, Somewhere |
It should be noted that Trevor almost landed a perfect 10 point faceplant shortly after taking this image. Apparently it looked a lot more painful than it was. Not so sure the same could be said about his polarizer though.
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Sore Feet Member
Joined: 16 Dec 2001 Posts: 6304 | TRs | Pics Location: Out There, Somewhere |
A few of my pics:
Olympic National Park Starfish Orgy Olympic National Park River of Rock Olympic National Park Olympic National Park Olympic National Park Olympic National Park Fern floors Olympic National Park Inifinite Delta
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Trevor Member
Joined: 31 Jan 2004 Posts: 1562 | TRs | Pics Location: Edmonds, WA |
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Trevor
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Wed Mar 21, 2007 8:07 pm
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Nice. The first image and the ruby b+w are my favorites.
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Backpacker Joe Blind Hiker
Joined: 16 Dec 2001 Posts: 23956 | TRs | Pics Location: Cle Elum |
Ole Treb can sure write up a report.... Great pics as usual from both of you....
"If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide."
— Abraham Lincoln
"If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide."
— Abraham Lincoln
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