Along the Raftman's Path
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The blues, the grays, the ocean and its driftwood

8/7/2017

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Washington felt like home. 

Maybe it was the two days of driving through 100 degree Idaho and eastern Oregon dry landscapes. Maybe it was insanely good burrito we got at the food truck in Olympia. 
Maybe it was finally reaching the end of the swing, sliding into the last stretch of the boomerang arc, heading north along the coast, slowly making steps towards the east, our house. 

Mostly I think it was the trees, the blues, the grays, the ocean and its driftwood. 
Picture
Our first night was spent on the Pacific Ocean. We walked along fields of driftwood laying like fallen totems between the sand and the thick interior forest. There was a ceaseless breeze that kept the ocean in our camper and burned our fire quickly. After dinner sat and watched the sun set on the ocean. The sand skittered towards me and I would close my eyes but not for too long. I didn't want to miss the last bit of sun. I wanted to see the lightness of the dry wood begin to meld into the dark spruce as day left. 
Picture
The glacial waters of the Hoh River.
PictureDusk in the Hoh Rainforest
I'm still processing this place. It's fingerprints have been tattooed on me. There are only a few places I've been in my life that have completely altered my perspective. Northern Maine in late October. The saddle between the Upper and Lower Devil Peaks in the Siskyous Mountains. Predawn late August on the Susquehanna River. The Hoh Rainforest. It's primordial colors of blue and gray serve as a thick backdrop to the large Sitka Spruce and fields of fern that cover the soft forest floor.   I want to go back with my fly rod, a backpack, some food and hike deep into it until I'm lost. 15 elk crossed the river right below our campsite as the sun set.

​

Picture
Evening on the Hoh.
Picture
Ferry from the mainland to the San Juan Islands and Deception Pass.
Our last few days were spent in the Cascades. I found some water full of Westslope Cutthroat trout eager to take a hopper on top. We stayed away from the crowds and camped in forest service land surrounding the National Park. We were reluctant to go, but knew we had to eventually start making it home or else we'd never leave. 
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    Sketches & scatterings. Rooted in Pennsylvania along the Susquehanna River. 
    All words  & photos by Michael Garrigan unless otherwise noted. 

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Along the Raftman's Path by Michael Garrigan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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