As John Muir famously said, “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” So this last weekend, we listened to our inner Muirs, and the mountains, and we headed out of town and up to the Olympic Peninsula (home of Twilight, for you non-Washingtonian vampire lovers) for a weekend outdoors. We drove to Olympic National Park, found our campsite after dark, quickly pitched our tent and went to sleep. Waking up was nothing short of spectacular.
Once we had breakfast, we set out on our day hike, which turned out to be a rather grueling but extraordinarily pretty 12 miles. The first part of the day led us along the river up to Sol-Duc Falls, and then we turned straight up the mountain to end up Deer Lake, where we stretched out on the bank, basked in the sunlight that was finally reaching our faces, enjoyed our trail lunch and imagined a life for ourselves in the forest.
Once we made it down, it was a relaxing camp night. I snuggled into my camp hammock; we built a big fire, and we tore into our meal and later into the honored camping tradition of s’mores. Our rest that night was well earned. And then we packed up, drove out and headed back into the city, into the busyness of everyday life. But first we stopped in the small town of Port Angeles, and I looked out over the water and felt lucky to be where I am.