One of the towns we drove through on our Olympic Peninsula trip is named Sequim, and this gives me an opportunity to comment on an aspect of newcomer life I haven't really commented on here before: the process of learning the idiosyncratic pronunciations of various geographic names in this state. It's often really hard to figure out how to pronounce a place name from the way it's spelled.
There are the relatively easy ones, like Wenatchee, which is just a matter of knowing which syllable to stress and which you have a one in three chance of getting right if you guess. (It's "weh-NAT-chee.")
Then there are the ones like Tulalip (too-LAY-lip), which require you to figure out both the stress and how to pronounce one of the vowels (in this case the "a").
Puyallup is one I'm still trying to make roll off my tongue. It's another level of difficulty. There are so many possible ways you could pronounce it that it jams your language brain up. (Turns out it's "pyoo-AL-up.")
Then there are the local peculiarities, like the fact that you just have to know that the "s" in "Moines" is pronounced in "Des Moines" (but not the "s" in "Des," which is silent). And "Leschi," which if you know how to speak Italian you will tend to want to pronounce as "LESS-key" but is locally pronounced as "LESH-eye."
But my favorite disconnect between spelling and pronunciation is Sequim. David, quite reasonably, thought it was prounounced "SEE-quim," like "sequin" with an "m" at the end. I, conditioned by decades of living with Spanish place names, heard it in my head as "seh-KEEM." But it is neither of those. Do you know what it is? You'll never guess. It's "squim," like "squid" with an "m" at the end. It's enough to give a person a complex.
It just occurred to me that it's a good thing I don't have any native Washingtonian readers (since I know the only people who read this blog are Linda in San Francisco and my immediate family in Southern California). If I did, they'd be rolling their eyes at all my whining. "Deal with it," they'd say. "Damn Californian."
*Answer: It's "AL-kye" (rhymes with "pie"), and it's the beach that runs along the north edge of West Seattle. Don't say you're looking for "AL-key" or someone will direct you to certain blocks of downtown.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Olympic Peninsula Vacation, Part 3: The horse smells the beer
On Monday, we embarked on one of the classic hikes in the Sol Duc area, going from our campground to Sol Duc Falls, and continuing from the falls on up to Deer Lake. We originally intended to hike a nearly twelve-mile loop, going on past Deer Lake along the Little Divide ridge to Mink Lake, and from there back down to the Sol Duc Hot Springs Resort for a post-hike soak. However, the people we met on our way up to Deer Lake, including several young summer park rangers, told us that there was still so much snow on Little Divide that it was possible to lose the trail. So we ended up just going to Deer Lake and back, which was plenty of hiking anyway: a total of ten miles round trip, with an elevation gain of 1,900 feet.
The first leg, to Sol Duc Falls, was an easy two miles with just a couple of hundred feet of elevation gain. The falls aren't very high, but they were surging with snowmelt.
From there, we started climbing the three miles to Deer Lake. Three miles doesn't sound very far, but it was pretty steep. There was also water everywhere; in some places the trail itself resembled a shallow creekbed — I don't mean shallow creeks crossed the trail, though they did that too; I mean portions of the trail were shallow creeks. Here's a video David took of water falling from an overhang next to the trail.
So much water in July! One would never expect to see that in the Sierra Nevada.
Nor this: Snow on the shores of a lake at just under 4000 feet of elevation. This is Deer Lake, and David observing the signpost of the trail we would have taken from here to Mink Lake if it hadn't been for the snow.
The first leg, to Sol Duc Falls, was an easy two miles with just a couple of hundred feet of elevation gain. The falls aren't very high, but they were surging with snowmelt.
From there, we started climbing the three miles to Deer Lake. Three miles doesn't sound very far, but it was pretty steep. There was also water everywhere; in some places the trail itself resembled a shallow creekbed — I don't mean shallow creeks crossed the trail, though they did that too; I mean portions of the trail were shallow creeks. Here's a video David took of water falling from an overhang next to the trail.
So much water in July! One would never expect to see that in the Sierra Nevada.
Nor this: Snow on the shores of a lake at just under 4000 feet of elevation. This is Deer Lake, and David observing the signpost of the trail we would have taken from here to Mink Lake if it hadn't been for the snow.
Halfway through the trip back down to Sol Duc Falls, my legs were already aching. I started going as fast as I could, partly because I was worried I might not make it, partly because I wanted to make sure we got back down in time to get to the hot springs before they closed, and partly because I was thinking about the beer we had in the cooler back at the campsite. Whatever works: we made it back to camp at 7:00 pm, an eight-hour hike behind us and with two hours left to hit the hot springs.
Sol Duc Hot Springs Resort has three pools for soaking — one gently warm pool for kids and two that are progressively hotter, plus a naturally-heated swimming pool. They drop the price from $11 to $8 for the last two hours of the day, which worked out perfectly for us. It felt so good to shake my legs out in the hot water, soak my throbbing feet, and tread water in the cool pool. As evening fell, thousands of big water bugs hovered over the pools — ugly but harmless. The sulfur fumes from the mineral springs seemed to be keeping the mosquitoes away.
On Tuesday we headed back to Seattle, with a stop in Port Angeles for lunch at a Chinese restaurant, then back to Bainbridge Island to catch the ferryboat Tacoma again. My travels weren't over when I got home, however; I had to turn around and head to Minneapolis the next day for work! Fortunately, I had my hike-weary legs to remind me of what a great trip I'd just had on the Olympic Peninsula.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Olympic Peninsula Vacation, Part 2: Meeting our Makah*
Dawn broke on Sunday with the more characteristic gray skies of Cape Flattery — still lovely in its own way. We had coffee in our cabin, packed up, checked out, and headed over to town to go to the Makah Cultural Center and Museum.
It's a wonderful museum, focused on the artifacts excavated at the Ozette village site on the Pacific side of the ancestral Makah lands. A landslide 400 or 500 years ago buried the village and preserved it until the 1970's, when erosion began to expose it. Tribal leaders collaborated with university archaeologists and government agencies to excavate and preserve the artifacts, often devising innovative preservation techniques to deal with the wet, mud-encased objects. Contemporary Makah craftspeople made replicas of many of the items, not just for display in the museum, but also as a way of recovering, preserving, and passing on traditional knowledge — an added layer of significance which I found fascinating and moving.
Seeing these artifacts and learning about the original peoples' way of life, I couldn't help but reflect on how easy our lives are by comparison, and yet at the same time how dangerously dependent we are on things we can't do or make for ourselves. I don't even know how to grow or gather my own food, never mind making my own tools or building my own shelter. (I do know how to knit, so at least I can make some of my own clothing...if someone else harvests the fiber and spins the yarn for me...oh, well, so much for that consolation.) If the tribal way of life was nearly destroyed by the introduction of modern people and their technology, then there's a kind of irony in our vulnerability today to any disruption of our networks of supply and communication.
After lunch in the Warmhouse Restaurant (we persist in enjoying the soft life), we headed east the way we had come, back along the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The sky had cleared by then, and we stopped to take a few pictures at a turnout. I was impressed by an arabesqued log of driftwood, inside of which there had grown an artful collection of small plants; it looked like a natural planter box, or an improbable ikebana arrangement. I took a bunch of pictures, because I thought Mom would like to see it; here's a good representative shot.
It's a wonderful museum, focused on the artifacts excavated at the Ozette village site on the Pacific side of the ancestral Makah lands. A landslide 400 or 500 years ago buried the village and preserved it until the 1970's, when erosion began to expose it. Tribal leaders collaborated with university archaeologists and government agencies to excavate and preserve the artifacts, often devising innovative preservation techniques to deal with the wet, mud-encased objects. Contemporary Makah craftspeople made replicas of many of the items, not just for display in the museum, but also as a way of recovering, preserving, and passing on traditional knowledge — an added layer of significance which I found fascinating and moving.
Seeing these artifacts and learning about the original peoples' way of life, I couldn't help but reflect on how easy our lives are by comparison, and yet at the same time how dangerously dependent we are on things we can't do or make for ourselves. I don't even know how to grow or gather my own food, never mind making my own tools or building my own shelter. (I do know how to knit, so at least I can make some of my own clothing...if someone else harvests the fiber and spins the yarn for me...oh, well, so much for that consolation.) If the tribal way of life was nearly destroyed by the introduction of modern people and their technology, then there's a kind of irony in our vulnerability today to any disruption of our networks of supply and communication.
After lunch in the Warmhouse Restaurant (we persist in enjoying the soft life), we headed east the way we had come, back along the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The sky had cleared by then, and we stopped to take a few pictures at a turnout. I was impressed by an arabesqued log of driftwood, inside of which there had grown an artful collection of small plants; it looked like a natural planter box, or an improbable ikebana arrangement. I took a bunch of pictures, because I thought Mom would like to see it; here's a good representative shot.
And there was this striking rock formation as well:
After that, we made our way east and inland, up into Olympic National Park to Sol Duc Campground, where we pitched our tent and planned our next day's hike. Here's a video of our little campsite.
Next: Sol Duc Falls, Deer Lake, and some persuasive evidence that we're not in California anymore.
*Lest my dreadful pun in the title mislead you, the name of the tribe is pronounced "mahKAH," stress on the second syllable, like the large multicolored parrot species, not like JFK pronouncing the title of this post from beyond the grave.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Olympic Peninsula Vacation, Part 1: Neah is far
The Friday before last, David and I took off for our first real regional vacation since moving to Seattle. We planned to spend two nights out at the windswept, overcast Makah Nation on Cape Flattery, the northwesternmost point in the lower 48. (Alert readers will recognize the Makah Nation from David’s business trip back in March; see "Hey, where ya been?" from March 15.) Then, we planned to move east and inland, to the mountains on the north side of the Olympic Range, for two days of camping and hiking.
The trip started with a lovely ride on the Washington State Ferry vessel Tacoma, on a sparkling blue day with great views of the mountain.
We then drove out west along the northern edge of the peninsula, through Port Angeles and along the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where the clear weather afforded us the international experience of looking across at Canada. Finally we arrived in the Makah town of Neah Bay, where, to our amazement, it was still clear and sunny, with a refreshing cool breeze. Couldn’t believe our luck. Here’s the little fishing harbor that greeted us in Neah Bay.
The Hobuck Beach Resort just outside of town doesn’t take telephone reservations for their cabins, probably because their remote location encourages too many no-shows. When David was here before, he had no trouble getting a cabin, so we were hoping to have a similar experience. But that was March, midweek, and this was a July weekend with unusually fantastic weather, so of course all the cabins were occupied for Friday night. Fortunately, there was plenty of room to pitch a tent in the field next to the beach, so we booked a cabin for the following night and set up camp next to a fire ring in the field, where, despite the sunny daytime weather, a thick marine dew frosted every surface as soon as the sun went down.
The next morning, we decided to pamper ourselves and went to the Warmhouse Restaurant in town for breakfast, where I saw my first bald eagle fly past the picture window overlooking the harbor. The Warmhouse is a real local place; after we arrived a group of about eight men from the tribe sat down at the table next to us and started discussing plans for an upcoming fireworks show. (In Washington, it’s legal for the tribes to sell fireworks, and it appears to be a pretty big industry for them.)
After breakfast, we had a little time before we could move our stuff to the cabin, so we walked the short Cape Flattery trail. The trail has recently been improved with wood plank walkways, which helps limit the amount of mud you have to walk through. The trail winds through a thick forest on the headlands, then pops you out on stunning cliffside overlooks, with views of gemlike coves below.
As you can see, the weather was still blessing us.
After that, we went back to the Hobuck Beach Resort, packed up our tent, and relocated to swanker digs. Here are the digs, and the view from the front porch.
That afternoon we hiked to Shi Shi (“shy shy”) Beach along a moderate two-mile round-trip trail that wound through another forested area and then descended very steeply to the beach.
We slept well in our cabin after a day of hiking and a spaghetti dinner. Next: the Makah Cultural Center and the campground at Sol Duc.
The trip started with a lovely ride on the Washington State Ferry vessel Tacoma, on a sparkling blue day with great views of the mountain.
We then drove out west along the northern edge of the peninsula, through Port Angeles and along the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where the clear weather afforded us the international experience of looking across at Canada. Finally we arrived in the Makah town of Neah Bay, where, to our amazement, it was still clear and sunny, with a refreshing cool breeze. Couldn’t believe our luck. Here’s the little fishing harbor that greeted us in Neah Bay.
The Hobuck Beach Resort just outside of town doesn’t take telephone reservations for their cabins, probably because their remote location encourages too many no-shows. When David was here before, he had no trouble getting a cabin, so we were hoping to have a similar experience. But that was March, midweek, and this was a July weekend with unusually fantastic weather, so of course all the cabins were occupied for Friday night. Fortunately, there was plenty of room to pitch a tent in the field next to the beach, so we booked a cabin for the following night and set up camp next to a fire ring in the field, where, despite the sunny daytime weather, a thick marine dew frosted every surface as soon as the sun went down.
The next morning, we decided to pamper ourselves and went to the Warmhouse Restaurant in town for breakfast, where I saw my first bald eagle fly past the picture window overlooking the harbor. The Warmhouse is a real local place; after we arrived a group of about eight men from the tribe sat down at the table next to us and started discussing plans for an upcoming fireworks show. (In Washington, it’s legal for the tribes to sell fireworks, and it appears to be a pretty big industry for them.)
After breakfast, we had a little time before we could move our stuff to the cabin, so we walked the short Cape Flattery trail. The trail has recently been improved with wood plank walkways, which helps limit the amount of mud you have to walk through. The trail winds through a thick forest on the headlands, then pops you out on stunning cliffside overlooks, with views of gemlike coves below.
As you can see, the weather was still blessing us.After that, we went back to the Hobuck Beach Resort, packed up our tent, and relocated to swanker digs. Here are the digs, and the view from the front porch.
That afternoon we hiked to Shi Shi (“shy shy”) Beach along a moderate two-mile round-trip trail that wound through another forested area and then descended very steeply to the beach.
We slept well in our cabin after a day of hiking and a spaghetti dinner. Next: the Makah Cultural Center and the campground at Sol Duc.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Fourth of July weekend, down at the neighborhood lake
Other than watching the fireworks on Friday night from the roof of our apartment building, we had no plans for the Fourth of July weekend, and I think we ended up surprising ourselves by spending all three days at the Lake Union Wooden Boat Festival at the Center for Wooden Boats, down at the south end of Lake Union. Each day, we found ourselves walking the seven blocks down to the lake, because for one thing, it was close (and cheap), but also, when it came right down to it, it seemed like there really was nothing better we could be doing than hanging out by the water, drinking beer on the lawn, listening to live music, walking around on the docks to look at beautifully restored historic wooden boats, taking free boat rides, and enjoying the mild, partly cloudy and cool weather that prevailed all weekend.
The old Armory building housed an exhibit of model boats, the most unusual of which was a 23-foot-long model of the Titanic made entirely of Legos.
Ahhhh....It relaxes me just to watch it.
The old Armory building housed an exhibit of model boats, the most unusual of which was a 23-foot-long model of the Titanic made entirely of Legos.
This was cute — a rowboat tricked out to look like a model tall ship:
We toured the lightship Swiftsure (one of the many lightships once anchored offshore on the east and west coasts) and the tugboat Arthur Foss. David made sure to take some photos of the engine and other technical features of these ships for Dad; he even got a movie of the Arthur Foss's engine when it they fired it up. I'll let David send those shots to Dad separately, but here's the Swiftsure's hull and her big bell (U.S.L.H.E. stands for "U.S. Light House Establishment," the government organization that administered the lightships and lighthouses back then).
I also like this shot David took of the Swiftsure's smokestack and mast:
Volunteers and instructors from the Center for Wooden Boats took groups of people out for free rides on various boats. We signed up for a sail on the Colleen Wagner, a 28-foot two-masted fishing boat; then when we got back to the dock, we hopped on the Umiak, a replica of a Native skin-on-frame canoe. Here's David's picture of the view looking forward; the big building in the background is the Armory, and one of those tall, vertical things to the right of the Armory isn't a ship's mast with a crow's nest — it's the Space Needle:
And here's the fearless crew:
David also took this beautiful detail of the lashings on the Umiak:
And there were fun and games — nautical pub trivia in the beer garden on Saturday night, and the Quick and Daring competition, in which teams of two had 24 hours (eight hours each day of the festival) to build a seaworthy vessel and then race around a three-legged course in the lake on Sunday afternoon. The first leg had to be paddled, the second had to be sailed, and the third could be done by any means necessary to get whatever was left of the boat to the finish line. First place went to "Foiled Again," a complicated, witty boat with a cardboard sail, foot pedals (shaped like giant feet) and an "experimental hydrofoil" on the stern (really it was just a box on a stick).
The surprise was the cardboard boat (named, cryptically, "Potatoes"), which not only made it all the way around the course before it melted but actually came in second.
We had such a good time at the festival that it made us both want to spend some more time down at the CWB, getting certified and getting out on the water.
I'll end this post with a lovely little movie David took of a couple sailing in to the dock.
Ahhhh....It relaxes me just to watch it.
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