“Out Of The Woods” sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussn
It’s incredible what crazy thoughts come to fruition when wine glows sleepily in the stomach and the fire glows happily on the hearth. It was so for us many years ago while enjoying good after dinner conversation with our friend Emmett Oliver after a day of fishing. “Why don’t we all go hiking through the Olympics” he asked. It seemed like a good idea,and it was his home territory and the fact that he would come with us made it the best idea in the world.
Emmett Oliver’s house on the Hood Canal
We got the maps out, and from our location at Lilliwaup at the Hood Canal, Washington, there were no end of good starting places. Rivers ran straight through the Olympic Mountain to the ocean, and with some bearing fascinating names like Queets, Duckabush, Hamma Hamma and Dosewallips, who could resist.
We were city folk living in California at the time, and though we were long time campers, I had never seen a backpack let alone carry one. Our plan was not to hike the entire width, but to do a manageable 15 or 20 mile hike and then come back. It would condition us for a longer future hike.
We had to take advantage of friends who had Boy Scouts in order to borrow backpacks and other necessary supplies. We borrowed a couple of backpacks, one with wooden frame from a father and the other smaller one with exposed metal pipe frame from his son. We gave them a trial run around the block, and then began loading them up for a ten day hike.
We drove back to Seattle and the Hood Canal, and found that Emmett could not go with us. So we strapped the loads which would be our homes onto our city slicker backs and set out for the Duckabush trail.
We first stopped at the General Store in Brinnon and bought candy bars and a large bag of grapes. I began to feel the weight of my pack with its metal frame cutting into my tender shoulders before we even crossed the highway into the woods, but Dr. A. ex-Boy Scout as he is, strode confidently into our new leafy green home.
Along with the discomfort in my shoulders and back, my feet began to join the painful chorus as my new unfamiliar boots began to pinch.
To take my mind off the pain, I sang loudly. It wasn’t long before my stomach began to rebel from the sweet grapes, and I begged to sit on a nearby rock. We had not made very good time toward our expected resting place for the night which was a small hut used by backpackers deeper into the woods.
We were soon overtaken by a noisy group of people coming our way, disturbing all sense of peacefulness in the forest. Coming around the bend, keeping a fast pace was a troop of small Boy Scouts and their Leader, behaving as if they were on a day walk in the park (which they were) instead of on this great hiking experience like us. They would learn the secrets that old trails and stones only tell children. I would try to learn them in the next ten days.
The first night, while listening to the forest sounds, I imagined bears and mountain lions as well as bearded unwashed tramps joining us in the campers’ hut. Though no large four-legged beasts attacked us during our hike, we always had the company of small furry critters who scampered across sleeping bags and faces each night.
The early mornings were one of my favorite times of the day, when birdsong greeted us and sunlight lay in bright puddles on the floor of the forest. The other time was at the end of the hiking day, when nursing bruises and back pain, I could drop my pack and lay on my back watching the bats take off on their evening flight for food.
Some of the largest trees on the planet cradled us to sleep each night. Douglas Fir, Sitka Spruce, Red Cedar, and always ferns and moss. We were not to escape the frequent rain giving it the rainforest name, and on nights we did not reach a camper hut, we were sheltered by our small and cozy tube tents which had the habit of leaking, until we awoke several times with soggy sleeping bags.
Five days into the woods we had reached our goal and turned back toward civilization. We were seasoned hikers by now, though our blisters would take awhile to heal, and at the end of the trail, we were ready for the next long distance hike, this time with our own back packs.
Through the years, backpacking became a favorite kind of vacation, often with grandsons who still load up and take off into the woods.
A good hike is only as good as the backpack. Boots are important and a good lighter to tackle the leeches. I like the puddles of sunlight and being cradled to sleep by large trees.
I understand about rain soaked sleeping bags. Not sure about stopping for candy bars but each to their own when tackling wilderness.
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There were slugs, but no leeches! Most of our subsequent hiking was in the Sierras. Lots of rocks to climb, but none of the mossy green stuff. Usually still snow even in summer. We always thought we were the oldest people on the trail. I wonder what they would think of us now. I wonder how I could carry a large pack! Another fun thing reserved for memory.
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My favorite sailing boat had a mast made of Sitka spruce. How many times I varnished that thing, twice in a boatyard, but otherwise from a bos’n’s chair. It would be wonderful to see one of those trees stretching up to the sky.
I’ve never been backpacking, so I don’t know about fitting backpacks, but I’ve been hiking, and I do know how important the right boots are. They really do ease the trails, too — as you know.
I’ve spent time along the Oregon coast, but know almost nothing about Washington. I’ve been to the Columbia Gorge, but never to any of the beautiful cities or the San Juans, etc.
Your tales make me want to go!
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Oh! I like your sculpture, too. She looks like she has rubber boots and gardening gloves — quite a combination with that hat.
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I’m sorry it didn’t reproduce better. Looks as if she has no eyes! Bad photographer.
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Better a photo you’re not happy with, than no photo at all!
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You never realize how tall those trees are until you’re sleeping under them looking up.
When we finally got our own backpacks, it took awhile to try a lot on to make sure it fit. I always took cross trainers along and traded off. We have had great experiences and met some great people on various trails.
Nothing is more beautiful than the Oregon coast with all the rocks, but those deep dark forests are hard to beat. Some of the trails also run very near the ocean so you get that too. I’ll write about the San Juans sometime, we’ve been there many times.
As far as long distance hiking goes, the PCT is mega tough. My Dad always wanted to do it after they set it up, in 1968 I think it was. But Cheri’s son, actually did it, all 2700 miles from Mexico to Canada! He’s my hero. It takes a tremendous amount of character to brave 3 months on the trail.
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Lovely images, Katy – other than those of your poor body, that is … 🙂
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Our little 10 day hike in the woods was only amazing to us who had never done it before. It was a chance to see the Rainforest first hand, and be appreciative that the loggers did’t get there first. So many of the forests in the Northwest have been logged into destruction.
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And I have no doubt all the city fathers are telling you it’s because of the need not to lose jobs, right ? – I DETEST that justification.
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So glad you lived to tell the tale, Kayti! A Norwegian woman who survived three days in the British Columbia wilderness has been in our news lately.
Your sculpture is quite fetching–you really are multi-talented.
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I didn’t read about the Norwegian woman. Dangerous at any time to be lost, but especially so at this time of year. So glad she is safe.
The crazy little sculpture is the type of thing friend Beatrice Woods was fond of making. Sort of an illustration of the occasion!
In this case, I was still wearing my silly hat and those stiff miserable boots when we came out of the woods.
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Your hiking tale had me captivated. So glad you survived the uncomfortable backpack and the blisters to develop a love of tramping through the countryside. And to pass it on to children and grandchildren. Lots of great memories there.
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I look back on this first experience and wonder how green we were. I think it was partly the borrowed backpacks! We thought we were just going for a walk in the woods! But when all our city friends were flabbergasted, we couldn’t wait to do it again. I’m glad the grandkids like it.
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I haven’t done overnight trips for years. Your post made me want to but I doubt I’m up for it any longer.
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Obviously not I! We thought we were the oldest people on the trail 30 years ago!
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I love this story, Kayti. Thank you. And what a beautiful setting for Emmett’s house. I grew up reading Trixie Belden books and she went on holidays to the Adirondacks and the corner of Emmett’s house is exactly how I imagined Trixie’s holiday home.
PS. Have you seen the movie, Wild, with Reese Witherspoon? It’s very good, about a woman hiking on her own for several months from Mexico to Canada and conquering her backpack, her boots and many other challenges.
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I’ve just finished reading “Wild” and we plan to see the movie. She really told it like it is. We have hiked parts of the PCT, and between camping trips all up and down the coast,we are quite familiar with every place she mentions, so it was a good read. I would never have had the stamina to hike the whole trail even with a companion. We did love back packing, and the thrill of climbing to the tallest peak is pretty exciting.
I’m glad you liked the post Narelle.
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