Tue 13 – Wed 14 Aug 2019
We may not have been ancient mariners nor killed an albatross, but water shortages would feature significantly in our lives for 18 hours after departing Ozette.
We’d set off from Lyre River to Ozette this morning with all our Platypus bottles filled at the campsite (around 4 litres in total), but no other water because our main water carrier had been stolen. There was nowhere to fill up our bottles in Ozette and we were running low on drinking water after our nine mile walk. We hoped to buy a new 10 litre water container in diminutive Forks and find somewhere to fill it up.
There was no guarantee we’d find either a water container or water. So, as we retraced our steps through Clallam Bay, before heading off south for Forks, we stopped at the shops there (the first shops since leaving Ozette 40 minutes / 25 miles earlier) and paid excessively for 3.75 litres of drinking water (and an expensive loaf of bread, presumably dredged with gold dust). Thank goodness we did.
We continued down to Forks, where we managed to buy an empty 10 l water container, but found no water tap to top it up. The first 2 DNR campsites we tried, both requiring a bit of a drive to the south of Forks, were full. (DNR campsites have just 8-12, very large, very well-spaced pitches – wonderful if you are lucky enough to get a pitch, terrible when you are getting desperate for somewhere to stay for the night.) The drinking water supply was not obvious at either site, and we needed to push on, so our 10 litre container was still empty.
Whilst we were busily searching for water and somewhere to stay, the girls’ equally busy mission was to progress competition number 2 that Dave had set for the USA part of our trip. This was to find vehicle number plates (licence plates / registration plates) from at least 33 of the 49 states of the North American continent (i.e., including the non-contiguous state of Alaska, but excluding the islands of Hawaii). Every time the car stopped for more than 30 seconds, the girls leapt out and scurried round looking at the plates of every car in the vicinity. They had been doing well getting the numbers up on the motorways and main roads but their only real chance on the quiet roads was those times when we were briefly parked near other cars.
After a think, we decided to push on for one more DNR site, Minnie Peterson, hoping that the journey several more miles out of our way wouldn’t be wasted by finding yet another full campsite and having to back-track. We were in luck! There were a few of the nine pitches left, and a particularly nice one, the disabled pitch, became freely available to all-comers just before we arrived, so we were able to take that. It was a real relief to find somewhere to stay.
Now, we just needed to collect water to fill up our new 10 litre container. The pretty site had a single, shared, long-drop toilet and each pitch had a picnic table and fire pit. But the drinking water supply took some finding. This was because there wasn’t one.
In desperation, Dave took a 5 minute walk out to the river – maybe we could collect river water and purify it with our emergency purification tablets. But the accessible part of the river was just downstream of a beaver dam. The sluggish, cloudy water, filled with goodness knows what, was not a good start point for purification.
We considered our options, miles from anywhere. We had exactly 3 litres of water left between the four us, with tonight’s tea and tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch still to prepare, washing up still to be done (from lunch today, as well as from cooking tonight’s tea and preparing tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch), and personal hygiene to deal with.
We would just about manage overnight and into late morning if we were very sparing. That meant cooking a tea that was already hydrated where possible (i.e., tins rather than dried sauces), drinking any cooking water (hence we chose noodles, not pasta, and made the cooking water into a thin, not-too-salty stock), and avoiding wine with the meal (as wine would further dehydrate us).
Ultimately, we put four family meals’ worth of dirty dishes and pans in a plastic bag to deal with later, did waterless, toothpaste-only teeth cleaning, and limited personal hygiene to one emergency moist wipe per person to freshen up and no shave or hair wash for Dave.
Despite the water shortage, we were pleased to have arrived at such a pretty site, so far from anywhere, and so quiet. Tall, magical, moss-covered trees surrounded the well-spaced pitches and gave the campsite an air of mystery like a fairy tale grotto. We settled down for the night shortly before 9 p.m. We were all tired from two early starts in a row, plus it was another way to minimise bodily water losses as we kept still by sleeping. We lay down and relaxed into the deep, engulfing silence.
At that exact moment, the huge RV on the adjacent pitch started up its generator – no doubt so that the occupants could watch TV or something, whilst we were struggling even for water. The problem with generators is that the RV occupants don’t hear it much from inside: instead, it is everyone else on the campsite who suffers, putting up with what sounds like a car engine continuously accelerating and decelerating. (We experienced the same on our first night at Shallow Bay campsite in Newfoundland’s Gros Morne National Park – it really spoils things.) You can bet RV owners wouldn’t use generators if they, inside, had to put up with what they inflict on everyone outside.
Anyway, this hellish noise continued for an hour. The RV occupants probably weren’t breaking any rules – but why come to this sort of campsite where you can enjoy peace and quiet and nature, and then ruin it by bringing all your home comforts with you? We couldn’t sleep, so passed the time making up little poems.
Here we are, at one with nature,
Listening to the generator.
We need a shower, we really oughta,
But there ain’t any bleedin’ water.
It’s time for bed, we’ve had our fun,
But the generator’s still not done.
[And, added next morning: you can work out why...]
We’re all awake, got up, and then
The generator starts again.
And so the generator continued from 7 a.m. until at least 8:30 a.m., when we drove away from the campsite. We were slightly refreshed, having decided we could spare just enough water for a small cup of breakfast coffee for Dave and me (the girls had water). We were now down to our final emergency 1.25 litres between four people.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Ruby Beach.
We continued the drive south, stopping for a break at the stunning Ruby Beach, where Dave and I did a short walk along the beach and the girls played carefully on the washed-up drift logs and inside dens that people had made. Of course, the major draw for the girls was the car park.
They leapt out and, ignoring Dave and I totally, went off checking for car registrations, gleefully exclaiming whenever they found a new one they hadn’t seen before (5-6 new plates just in the small car park at Ruby Beach). This, of course, is the reason we travel round the world: the expansion of the mind and strong sense of family togetherness...
We drove on and reached Kalaloch campground, where, even though we weren’t staying, they kindly let us fill up all our water bottles and containers (19 litres: happy again!) and quickly do our washing up at one of the water taps. We then continued to Quinault Lake, where we ate our picnic lunch at a picturesque spot on July Creek overlooking the lake.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Quinault Lake.
During lunch, Poppy suddenly said, “What does ‘Omg’ stand for?”
May replied, “It means ‘Oh, my God’.”
“Well,” returned Poppy, looking at the nutrition information on a packet of crisps, “These say, ‘Cholesterol: Omg’!”
“No,” Dave and I chorused, “That says 0mg – zero milligrams!”
Timber at Quinault Lake.
We drove on through Amanda Park on a promontory on the south-west side of Quinault Lake, stopped in Aberdeen for a grocery shop in Walmart (Dave shopped whilst the girls and I used wifi at the McDonald’s inside), then continued our long drive towards Mount St Helens.
We took a chance by going out of our way to reach a DNR campsite called Winston Creek, not knowing what it would be like or whether there would be a space for us. In the event, it was so difficult to find (18 miles off the main road, no address provided on our DNR overview map, random turn-offs required and no road signs until right at the entrance) that few people actually succeeded in reaching the place, and we had a choice of three pitches even at our late afternoon arrival time.
We selected a pitch in a large clearing amongst the trees with a picnic table and firepit and our own little path to reach Winston Creek, a couple of dozen steps away, right where the little creek broke up into a section of small, rocky rapids. This meant we could hear the burbling creek waters right from our tent. There wasn’t so much as a single RV or generator anywhere, just a few tents and small camper vans, all keeping themselves to themselves.
With full water containers (for drinking, teeth cleaning and cooking), a hand pump for river water (for washing and washing up), a car full of freshly bought food, and, just the right distance away, a couple of long-drop toilets, all our basic needs were met, and both girls proved valuable members of the team, chipping in on all the jobs that needed doing.
We enjoyed a campfire and tasty camp dinner served with wine, then had a blissful twenty minutes sat by the creek in the gathering dusk. A bat flitted overhead, dark against the small portion of still-glowing, fidget-spinner-shaped sky visible through the trees overhead. We realised that we all wanted to stay here for a few nights. We had chanced upon paradise.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Winston Creek campground, Washington State.
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