We had our first snow last week. Naturally we were out of town for Thanksgiving (more on that anon), and so were only able to enjoy the last soggy dregs that stuck stubbornly to the as-yet-unraked-leaves drifting about the yard. While the holiday season is one of my favorite times of year, I know in a few short weeks I will be nursing a furious case of cabin fever, longing in vain for any vestiges of sunshine. Such thoughts turn me to the long warmth of summer days past, and several adventures I was unable to share with you at the time (what with flitting off to Costa Rica and all). So without further ado, let us all indulge in a bit of sunshine.
The days of August sing a irresistible siren song, luring me out of doors and to the sea or mountains to enjoy every last gasp of summer. Days before leaving for the tropics, I found myself in an undisclosed, magical location (leave me a comment and we’ll see if we can work something out) where the beach is rife with succulent oysters just waiting to be plucked from the briny rocks.
Our campsite came with a framed, picture-perfect view of the Hood Canal and Mt. Rainier in the distance.
Though there is a limit of 18 oysters per person per day, my sister, mum, and I figured that was plenty to suit even our eager mouths.
We feasted on our catch glossy and gloriously raw, as well as fragrantly grilled in their own shells with a dousing of herb butter to top them off. Pure heaven.
In the evening, we walked the shoreline, drinking in the salt air and carefully avoiding the sneaky caress of poison oak.
The next day we set out for the incomparable Marmot Pass, which has now risen to (nearly) top the list of my favorite Washington hikes. The trail is 11.5 miles roundtrip, winding through a lush forest of old growth Hemlock and Cedar beside the Big Quilcene River, before climbing rapidly through gorgeously floral alpine meadows and up to the crags of Buckhorn Mountain.
(I mean, really…)
The scent of sunbaked shale, mingling with the heady smell of Queen Anne’s Lace, Cow Parsley, Indian Paintbrush, Columbine and Bluebells all drifting on the evening mountain air will help sustain me through the grey winter months.
More to come!