We often get accused of posting pictures of beer in scenic surrounds.  So we thought we’d change it up a bit.  

No, not beer. This is cider. A very nice one at that!

Having quenched our thirst initially with a cider or two, it was sooo nice down by the waterfront that we moved onto beer anyway.

Then came the dilemma.  By this time we were getting quite peckish.  And we had a big juicy rib eye steak on the bone, just waiting for us to cook, back at the RV.  But just when we were getting ready to leave, the evening light mellowed and the sun slowly arced its way down the sky.  The light just kept getting better… so much so that I had to send Darren back to the RV to get more beer.  

By the time the sun was actually setting, the beer was getting rather chilly to hold.  Ever galant, Darren donated his sock as a glass warmer.  

Going, going…

Gone

Other highlights during our week in the Pacific Northwest would have to include…

* Contemplating the challenges of living on the Olympic peninsula, far from civilization, and evidently with not much internet…

* Exploring the ‘historic’ Victorian charm of Fort Warden State Park in Port Townsend.

* Followed by perfectly deep-fried Alaskan cod and chips on a waterfront deck in Port Townsend. Mushy peas: unfortunately not. But homemade tartare sauce and coleslaw are really not too poor an alternative.

* A sunset run by the waterfront after work. So lucky to be able to run here, just steps from the hotel and office.

* One of our nights out in Seattle welcomed us to the world of tinned tuna belly at a tapas bar with a difference: Jarrbar. Jarrbar serves tins. As in tins of stuff served to paying customers in the tin. Not like a tin of beans or a tin of tomatoes. Like sardines, mackerel, octopus and tuna. But this was not the insipid waterlogged tuna of old, briny and smelling of cat-food. This was rich and unctuous, tender but with real substance. There’s no reason to ever look down on tins again. In fact, I’m on a mission to hunt this particular tin of Spanish Matiz tuna belly down.  They also did rather a nice line in sherry.

All good things must come to an end, but not quite as soon as we thought.  We underestimated the traffic to Seattle airport on a Friday afternoon and oops, missed our flight.  I guess we should be grateful that we were able to transfer to the next flight, a mere 3 and a half hours later. (Long enough to get the hell out of the airport, do a bit of shopping and visit a nearby brewery for a different kind of flight). 

Unfortunately, missing your flight is a bit like being the naughty kid at primary school, given ‘the look’ and designated to the naughty step. I could see my Alaskan Airlines status melting away before my eyes, as we were assigned our seats at the back of the plane. We didn’t even have to argue about who got the nasty middle seat, as were seated one in front of the other, both in the nasty middle seat. Penance! As if to add insult to injury, Alaska airlines even rustled up one of their oldest planes. One from the era of no power at the seat (phones dying at this point) and no in-flight entertainment.  (I know, first world problems!)

As for that silver lining we’re always looking for… at least it’s a chance to catch up on the blog!

It’s impossible to not be overawed by the biggest trees in the world. If Enid Blyton ever came to this neck of the woods, the giant sequoias would surely have been the inspiration for The Magic Faraway Tree. For anyone who ever enjoyed being whisked away to the magical lands at the top of the tree, just gazing up (and up and up) towards the canopy of a giant sequoia is enough to re-ignite that spark of imagination.  

Such was the disbelief of the US general public in the late 19th century that these trees even existed, at least three sequoias died to prove that they lived. One particular such tree was unceremoniously cut down, chopped into wedges, hauled out to the east coast and reassembled. Whereupon it was ridiculed and labeled as a ‘California hoax’ because no one could quite believe it.

By day 2, Darren realized we had in fact already been to Kings Canyon (after cajoling me for not knowing where I’ve been and threatening to not bring me on trips any more if I couldn’t remember places). Still, there’s plenty of new places to explore in a National Park. Morro Rock was one of them; Big Baldy trail another.  More great views and despite the remoteness, for the first time in the weekend we had a cellphone reception. Good timing for a quick FaceTime call to wish my dad a Happy Father’s Day and show him the view.

Whilst the heat wasn’t quite of the 100+ variety, approaching 90 degrees was hot enough to cut some of the hiking a little short. Cold beers and cold water was called for. And out of nowhere, Darren even rustled up some shade.

I was a little intrigued by the number of coaches we saw traversing the lake – at least a dozen. There must be something really good just right around the corner for all those tourists to be pouring in. They didn’t seem to stick around for long though, curiouser and curiouser. The following morning, the mystery was revealed. At the head of the lake was a Christian camp, bustling with throngs of eager youths, literally hundreds of teens, ready to embrace God in the countryside. I guess if that’s your bag, it’s a pretty cool place to do it.

So… wildlife toll for the weekend:  

* Deer – tick, saw a couple of them, each time adjacent to the parking area, as if paid to be there for the tourists.  

* Bears. Nada, zilch, nil pwoints.

* Cute marmots, almost like pudgy meerkats calling to each other with their high pitched whistles to forewarn of impending hikers. What I couldn’t quite get over was their coats of dense fluffy hair. Whilst they obviously need it in the winter, it seemed way overkill for a hot dry summer’s day. Put it this way, if I was hot…!

* A baby California King snake seemed out of place. You’d expect anything called King to have a sense of power and majesty about it, yet the distinctive orange and black markings looked odd on such a juvenile pencil thin body.

* We were first alerted to the frogs by their call, more of a low pitched hum than a croak. It wasn’t until after dark that we spotted them, bigger than my hand and not looking short on food.

* It may have been my imagination but the lizards too looked big and fat. With the feast of flying insects, they must surely be gorging themselves. The dragonflies also went up in my estimation when I discovered they eat mossies. Maybe I could get myself a pet one.

* But my absolute favorite had to be the big fat hairy caterpillars mooching around the campsite. Me and the under-ten camping community both. I rushed back to Darren with a photo and a “how cool is that” look upon my face, but I was one upped by the little boy who delicately scooped one up in his hand to proudly present to his parents. Probably the best Father’s Day present you could ask for.