Peninsula of Extremes

Located at the far Northwest Corner of the contiguous states, the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, is a place of extremes, sharp contrasts, and downright contradictions. For one, heavist rainfall in the States--170 inches a year. Beaches lie 20 minutes from alpine peaks, rainforests surround hot springs, thunderous waves lead up crags where eagles soar, white men Save The Whales while Indian tribes hunt and kill them, futuristic engineering lies beside old Victorian forts and ports, wolf havens compete with jazz festivals. Like Baja California, but in the opposite way, this is a unique peninsula with world class attractions: one of the most beautiful and alien places in America, pretty much what the whole phrase "Evergreen State" conjures up.

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Port Townsend is a crossroads, but also site of some amazing geography. Port Townsend is a charming Victorian relic with a full cultural menu. Olympic National Park is one of the most amazing in the Nation. Throw in ferry trips, hot springs, rain forests

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Driving frees you up to explore some real fairylands here, but you can see it by bus and ferry.

Port Angeles itself is often considered an ugly little hick town (the pulp mill and plywood factory are frequently mentioned in such dismissals) that only serves as a gateway to some beautiful and exciting places. And there's something to that: I personally consider it a sort of typical American small city placed into a very atypical setting. But Port Angeles is the hub of a fascinating area, with Olympic National Park to the West, Port Townsend to the East, a ferry to Vancouver Island heading out to the North, and the incredible 17 mile drive up Hurricane Ridge climbing precipitously out of town to the South. But even in town, you see a unique environment, bounded by a collision of mountain and sea, of peaks and depths.
Starting at the water, "P.A" immediately impresses with the view from the observation tower at the end of the municipal pier. Big shipping seems to be surrealistically imposed between the low shroud of Ediz Hook and the backdrop of Canada, across the Straits of Juan de Fuca. Turn around and there is Hurricane Ridge, raring back up into the misty heights of the Olympic Range, like a seaside Alp. There is a paved waterfront trail that leads siz miles along the coast, continuing out the Hook, a curved sandspit protecting the harbor as if by design, and a sort of miniature echo of nearby Dungeness Spit. On the Hook you are definitely out on the water, though dry--you get great views of Vancouver Island, and can look back at P.A. tucked in under the Ridge. Taek a picnic along. The ferry, the Coho, is for passengers and cars, by the way--portal to a semi-foreign country.
Right by the pier is the fascinating, if clumsily named, Arthur D. Feiro Marine Laboratory. Operated, byu the local Community College, the lab is a hand's on introduction to the area's riparian life. A hundred species of eels, octopuses (or is it octopodes?) starfish, eels and the delightful sea slug can be seen. Okay, maybe fascinating was putting it too strongly. The thing to me is that you can start out here at sea level, with your feet almost in the water, petting a sea urchin--and just get in a car and drive 17 miles South and be standing on top of extreme alpine terrain so steep you can't see the bottom, watching mountain goats nibble your tires. It's the Hurricane Ridge Road and there aren't many places like it. There's a ski area up there, even. And the view from 5700 feet with a 360 degree scan or staring straight out to sea is likely to stick with you. What sticks with me is coming down the Ridge in a 1957 Chevy panel truck, losing the brakes as I rocketed down towards oblivion. Definitely stimulating. At the bottom I pulled over for a quiver and my companion, a Japanese tourist girl who had done a so-so job of not screaming during our descent practically vaulted into the back where I joined her for some of the most jittery sex of my life, accompanied by all those stored-up screams. Not that I'm suggesting you try this yourself. But go ahead if you must. But while you're up on the ridge enjoy the alpine meadow sights. I dare you not to picture Julie Andrews running down through the heather and wild flowers.
Like most crossroads, P.A. has a lot of hotels, from cute Victorian B&B's to standard Doubletree/Best Western crap, including a lot of motels in the $35 to $50 range. The Royal Victorian is cheap, has frig and microwave, and decent for the price--521 E 1st St (360) 452-2316. There is a spiffy little hostel worth noting--The Spa International Hostel at 511 E First St. (360)452-3257. This is a real charmer, that always seems to have a vacant bed in spite of the English Tea, steam baths and massages. Around $15 for a bed, or $40 for couples room. A best bet.
There's plenty around to eat, but I seem to recall the First Street Haven (on First at Laurel, (360) 457-0352) as a nice slice of Americana (if you'll pardont he quiche) at decent prices. This seems to be where the locals eat--or over at the Chestnut Cottage (929 Front 452-8344. And what could be more American thatn pancakes--Petes at 110 E Railroad or Cafe Garden and 1506 First.
If you aren't driving a car, you are probably on a bus, which will take you to any town on the Peninsula. But check out the ferries. The Coho takes you to the English fantasy of Victoria for under $30 a car, $7 per passenger. Kids half price, half of that if you plan on dumping them overboard halfway across. (360)457-4491 The Victoria Express is a high speed passenger only ferry that charges $25 per person. But why??? For a real kick, call Rite Brothers (360) 452-6226 for sightseeing and charter flights.

The first image of Port Townsend (possibly the most beautiful town in the Northwest) is of restored Victorian buildings: impossibly quaint B&B's and museums and tea rooms set in riotous gingerbread, hyper-detail, and drop-dead charm. But there's also the setting to consider: the old port lies at the foot of the Olympic mountains and crawls along a point sticking straight out to sea, sort of marking the corner from the Straits of Juan de Fuca and Puget Sound. Standing in an old Coast Artillery gun bunker at Fort Worden or by the Point Wilson Lighthouse it's hard to shake the feeling of being on the prow of a great stone ship breaking into the waves. But as you head back into town, you sure notice the charm of the National Historic Districts--you get the feeling that San Francisco looked something like this somewhere back in its infancy. And so it did...but Port Townsend still does.
But this is no Sausalito or Carmel or Catalina, no Victorian tourist Disneyland. Port Townsend is a real, working town (it just didn't work out historically, which is why it's still cute). It's actually very blue collar/hip artist, with a lot of rich retirees helping to stoke the remarkable culture scene. By the way, if anything in Port Townsend looks hauntingly familiar--you probably saw "An Officer and a Gentleman" too many times.
You will soon ask yourself, "What the hell are all these big mansions doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" And there are plenty of booklets and museums hot to tell you. The short version is a sort of parable for the technology age. It was hard for sailing ships to handle entry to Puget Sound with the surrounding mountains blocking the winds. So it made since to drop a hook at Port Townsend for unlading--the goods to be shipped out by wagons (railroads soon to come). So there were a lot of millionaires, and a lot of prissy wives who wanted nicer homes than the other prissy wives (the true engine by which civilization progresses). There were also a lot of sailors and teamsters and harbor rats--the downtown area that is so genteel and new age today was a nest of bars, blind pigs and whorehouses when built, considered the a den of iniquity rivalling the Barbary Coast fleshpots of San Francisco. So here was this Arcadia--and then people starting building steamships. Suddenly it was easy enough to anchor over by the railhead in Seattle and skip the shipping of goods around the Sound. Which did it for Port Townsend. It dried up and lost its millionaires, but hung in there and eked out a living until ourside money came in and restored the mansions just because the place was so gosh-darned pretty. And here we have it.

There's not a whole lot of guided needed to check out Port Townsend (for some reason nobody calls it P.T. or anything--probably it's too dignified looking) and there are a lot of people and pieces of paper happy to steer you. Just walk around the downtown--pretty much one street wide, and climb up the cardiacal stair streets to the mansion zones to gawk at buildings and check out the splendid views. Bop up Water Street with marine views or glimpses of working fisheries and boatbuilding visible between each block of solid, wonderful or buildings. Hit a bar or restaurant or two, you won't go far wrong.
A couple of highlights...I really like the Haller Fountain, a pioneer memorial that for some reason features a bronze nymph, pretty much nekkid, rising from the sea ala Milo on a shell borne by cherbim and fishes. I don't know much about art, but I know I like art with cute tits. The Northwest School of Wooden Boatbuilding at 251 Otto St is worth a stop for boat fans. This is "Wooden Boats" magazine live. If you really want to get into it, they have workshops and even long-term programs in the skills--make your own pirate frigate or Viking ship--I know a guy who did. Fans of the sea, by the way, will be gratifyed by how many classic yachts and even working wooden boats. There are a lot of tours of the saloons and homes, or course, and fans should check it out--it's a marvelous collection. Just wandering around works, too. Don't miss the mother of them all, the stone Manresa Castle from 1892. The first mayor's home and later a Jesuit training dojo, the castle became a hotel and housed the cast of "Officer and Gentleman" Nice place to eat lunch while admiring the view, stroll through the rose and rhododendrun garden framing up pictures of the castle. The Castle might be the biggest and staunchest, but the most Victorian of the Victorians is the Ann Staret Mansion B&B and National Historic Landmark. This place is so opulent it's almost embarrassing. You can stay in the carriage house (800)321-0644) or take a tour of this mind-blowing 1889, 12 room mansion. The furniture alone is to drool for, the carpentry and artistry is like a textbook--a three story circular staircase leads up through the house to a domed cupola with windows that let light illuminate a different red jewel for each season of the year. Don't take a wife or girlfriend here, they'll never be happy anywhere else.

Fort Worden State Park, just out of town, is a destination it its own right. This is my favorite spot, walking the windswept dunes on the spit of land thrusting out into the Straits, hanging out in the old gun emplacements, hiking the trails up the cliffs. But the main thing Fort Worden is known for today is Culchah. The Centrum Foundation, an arts association with headquarters in an old Army building. Centrum has a poetry press and writer's retreats and such, but is best known for keeping the area entertained with various seminars, fefstivals, and reading series. They have a Jazz Festival, a bluegrass festival, a blues festival, folk dance wierdness, classical extravaganzas...stuff like that. Mostly in summer. The old Fort also has a Coast Artillery Musem, a Marine Science Center (with petting zoos of slimy coast denizens).

There are a lot of events in Port Townsend, from the Rhododendrun Fetical, to the Blues Fest and Jazz Port Townsend, to the Wooden Boat Festival, and internationally acclaimed Marrowstone Music Festival, but the one to try for is unique, the Kinetic Sculpture Race , This is just too much. If you haven't ever seen hand-made artwork racing with other mechano/dada/scifi sculptures across land and water, you haven't been in Port Townsend the first week in October. Check it out. Better yet, put on your Captain Nemo hat and Rube Goldberg smock and show up with an entry. The prize is, people think you are really weird. Know what, there's no point trying to list all the cool stuff in a place like this--it's just an amazing place to hang out and check out, that's all.

There's a lot of camping in the area, the best being at Fort Worden (360) 385-4730, and Old Fort Townsend (360)385-3595. You feel so safe tenting in a fort.
Better yet, stay in the Officer's Quarters at Fort Worden. BE an officer...and be gentle, man. Old colonels pads spiffed up with brass beds and Tiffany lamps and such--right in the park, right across from the parade ground! One bedroom apartment unit with kitchen and all around $75 a night, up to $320 a night for a barracks with a dozen bedrooms--great for sunday school retreats or Foreign Legion slumber parties. If you want these for a summer night, reserve WAY in advance (360)385-4730
The Starrett Mansion runs $80-175 a night to live in a gingerbread dream. The Old Consulate Inn is close, a huge old Vicky on a commanding bluff with fireplaces and billiard tables and a jacuzzi in a gazebo where you can kiss your sweetie right on the veranda. $100-200 a night (but hey, they throw in a sumptuous breakfast). (800)300-6753.

And of couse, there's an excellent hostel, in an old barracks out at the Fort. Pancake breakfasts, fantastic location. Nice place. In summer reservations are advised, especially during arts and music festivals. $12-15 a bed, $35 for couples rooms. (360)385-0655 (or through AYH system)

The most popular hot springs in the Olympics is Sol Duc (an old Indian phrase meaning "A duck with a lotta soul"), about 30 miles west of Port Angeles, on it's own 10 mile entry road from Hiway 101. It's a completely developed resort for the whole family (keep your suit on), with kids swarming around it's four pools. Three of those pools, including the very pretty, huge round one, are full of mineral water from 95 to 105 degrees; the other is a cool freshwater pool. The day fee is $6.50.
There was once a huge hotel/sanitarium of the typical turn-of-century mold on the site, but (also typically) it burned down. Now there is a fairly spartan resort for those who want to stay the night. (360)327-3583. They have a restaurant, store and the usual kitsch shops--and cabins for around $85 to 100 a night per cabin, some with kitchens. Sort of rustic, but not enough to be charming. But who cares, you're just sleeping there to be near the water. They also have a campground with RV hookups. The Park Service runs a campground nearby ($12). In addition to mindless soaking, there are great hiking trails in the area, most leading to rivers or lakes. (For some reason rain forests are just full of water)

Lesser known and utilized than Sol Duc, Olympic Hot Springs just west of Port Angeles on HIghway 101, head to the south on a road conveniently called Olympic Hot Springs Road. This will take you up into the lovely Elwha River Valley, a fine area for hiking and river rafting. You can stay here if you want, camping at Elwha campground for $10, or at a very nice old country inn B&B that actually accepts kids(!) for just under $100. But what we are looking for here is hot water, and the Springs, just up the Boulder Creek Rd. are just excellent. For one thing the water is REALLY hot, 140degrees. That might not boil and egg, but it will blister your butt in a hot second. So people have created the usual rock pools to give a range of water temperature ranging from tepid to "Japanese only". These springs were once developed and had a nice resort, but are now primitive, but free. The Forest Service demonstrates its usual crappy attitude towards hot springs around here, "discouraging" use of the springs. (A natural attraction on public land but nobody is supposed to use it--do YOU get that?) They also prohibit nudity, which doesn't stop anybody much. Smoky the Bear says, "Remember, only YOU can prevent forest flashers". A great place for a day of basking and getting your eggs shirred.

Shi Shi beach (and Point of Arches) is a place everybody in the Northwest has heard about, but few go there. It has had more poems written about it than any other place in the area, hands down.
The very name "Shi Shi" (rhymes with "My guy") evokes a mystical state of view, living, and awareness; your transparent eyeball caught between a very restive sea and steep spires of stone wreathed in mist, topped by lone cedars, and circled by eagles. The Olympics just sort of end here, along with the United States, the land torn off to leave stark cliffs. The creeks come down to the sea stained to tea color from seeping through the rain forests. There are several beaches, many only accessible at low tide, and woe to you if you miscaluculate--seriously, keep an eye out not to get caught on some beach that going to turn into a furious, freezing ocean in an hour or so. Shi-shi and its neighbor beaches are covered with logs, and undercut by a ledge of stone (which makes clamming almost criminally easy).
The Arches are preposterously painterly and mystic--like Chinese scrolls come to live. Tendrils of stone reaching out to sea, pierced by arches, topped by trees, with maybe an eagle nest or two--the reason people write poems about Shi Shi is because the place is a poem of nature and people just make despairing attempts to translate it.
It used to be possible to get to Shi Shi from the Indian Reservation at Neah Bay (where the tribes have recently resumed ancient whaling, causing controversy that gives you the choice of being on the side of ecology and The Whales or Native American Rights). But now that avenue of entrance has been closed of due to disputes, meaning you have to come to Shi Shi from the south end, through Ozette.
Thereby hangs a rant. I used to hang out on Shi Shi, living in handmade cabins with the hippies hardy enough to weather the Pacific Storms. Each creek had a cabin, built from driftwood essentially--my buddies would go down the coast in kayaks, spot cedar logs to tow back to Shi Shi, split the logs with wedges and build cabins, even a cedar meditation hut perched halfway up a cliff. That was their impact--building dwellings. One cabin had been there since a frustrated miner built it out of stone and cedar back in the twenties--by now every square inch of the interior intricately carved by successive residents bored out of their minds during the incessant rains. These cabins had no power, the only water was the "olympic tea" of the creeks, the only heat from packed-in wood stoves, firewood delivered to the door daily by the ocean. They were decorated with carvings, with Japanese glass fishing floats, with flotsam and jetsam. Okay, maybe their defecation ended up in the ocean, but so do The Whales'. It was a fantastic idyll, open to anybody who could live that way. Inhabitants of a dream/poem/cruel nature. But that was back when the beach was owned by the evil Weyerhauser wood products company. Now that it belongs to the Forest Service (read: people of the United States) you can't live there anymore. They bulldozed the cabins, they prohibit camping, they have closed off the trails and roads from Neah Bay. I just can't come up with a sentence to top that off--roll your own.