Springs

Michael lent me a book that gives the low down on various natural hot springs around the Northwest. I found one listed in the Olympic park, so I set out one day to find it.

I intended to drive straight to the hot springs, but got distracted along the way by the extremely pretty Lake Crescent, and had to walk around the shores for a bit. Then headed for the Elwha River valley where these springs were supposed to be.

The map in the book was pretty weak. The roads and campgrounds it listed didn't really match the maps the park handed me. Also, I learned as I drove into the park that all the campgrounds nearby were totally full.

That was kinda bad because it was after five in the evening. Once I found the trail head, there was still a two mile hike to reach the springs - and I hadn't found the trail head yet. I couldn't really stomach coming all that way and turning back, so I decided to try. It does stay light out pretty late here - well after nine. I did, however, have to accept the fact that I would be homeless at nightfall with no place lined up to sleep.

Oh well.

I powered Rusty up a very long very steep windy road with relatively little certainty I was going the right direction. I worried about her air-cooled engine overheating and crapping out way up there. But eventually I hit the end of the road and saw people with wet hair and towels. Good sign!

So I speed-walked up and down the trail until, finally, I reached the first pool. It was just some stones pushed together to dam up some of the hot water gurgling down the hill. It was steaming and a little murky and smelled like sulphur. Some people that were just leaving said this was the warmest one but there were some more pools up the trail further and one really nice one at the end.

I dunked into the warm one for a bit. It was natural alright. Black silt poofed up from the bottom and settled on my belly. It did feel quite nice after that hike though. I could have soaked there for awhile, but I decided to check out some other pools. I walked by some with people in them, but kept on walking until the trail got kind of ambiguous. It started to look less like a trail and more like footprints from people just exploring the woods. I guess that's the end.

But something told me to follow some footprints up a hill that didn't look like it lead anywhere. I followed the prints about fifty yards straight up a steep hill until I came across the most lovely of all the pools. It was made out of pieces of fallen tree trunks and boulders surrounded by the brightest green ferns I have ever seen. It was peaceful, warm, and totally empty.

FUCK... YEAH!

I hopped in and reveled in my little adventure victory of the day. It wasn't super warm, so I figured out how the folks adjust the temperature by throttling the amount of cold water that comes in.

I got it just right, and soaked as long as I could, certain other folks would come up to visit this jewel. But no one ever did - I think because it was late in the day. After awhile I started to worry about sunlight, so I began the two mile walk back to Rusty.

I was too relaxed to really worry about the fact that this was a Friday evening in prime camping country. I'm a little spoiled with the weekday camp-wherever-you-feel-like it mode. I looked on a map to see if there were some remote, primitive camp areas somewhere I could get to before dark.

I drove to a couple along the Straight of Juan de Fuca, but they were super tiny, and full to the brim. Along the way I kept my eyes peeled for little roads or areas I might not be noticed. Maybe I'm just a little paranoid about getting hassled by police, but I have heard about steep fines for illegal overnight parking.

By now it was completely dark, so I had no other real choice but to drive a few miles toward the town of Port Angeles to see if I could either blend in there or find a cheap motel.

It turned out to be a decent sized town, mostly dedicated to the port activities and to the neighboring national park. I drove around for awhile deciding on an optimal spot. I do my best to avoid parking near homes, to avoid any obvious trespass, and to avoid attracting the attention of anyone, especially police.

I found a street next to a shopping center that had an SUV parked with a for sale sign in the window. I parked right behind it like a kid playing hide-and-go-seek ducks behind a tree.

It worked. I didn't get hassled. However, I did learn that if you park by a car with a for sale sign in the window, that people actually drive up and slow down to check it out at all hours of the night and morning. Each of them, I was certain, was scrutinizing my van and whether or not it was occupied. But they were probably just checking out the car for sale, maybe wondering if Rusty was for sale too.

I split promptly at 6 am.