We contact a shuttle service to give us a ride from the Reservation (where we left the car) to the trailhead at Ozette Lake. The shuttle driver's name is Willie Nelson. I'm not making this up. He tells us that we hold the all-time record for earliest in the year request for a shuttle on this hike. Most of his business comes during warmer weather. This news comes as no big surprise.
It's after midnight when Willie drops us at the trailhead. The parking lot is empty. So is the ranger station. Larry sets up a luxurious camp on the ranger station deck, in front of the men's restroom. I'm assigned the task of guarding the toolbox during the night. The toolbox is a long story.
The toolbox story begins with this sign. Like a good Boy Scout, Larry is determined to save our food from the raccoons. He tells me to carry the toolbox in my pack. At first I am annoyed because the box is heavy, but soon I seen the positive side: the toolbox fills my pack. Sadly I will have room for little else. Larry will have to carry my sleeping bag, pad, and the tent.
Larry's next concern is fording the Ozette River, a task only possible at low tide. In order to get that far before the tide comes up, Larry forces me onto the trail before dawn and we hike with headlamps. I briefly wonder what it would be like to be with someone normal.
Eventually the sun comes up.
We make the Ozette River at low tide and cross easily. Below you can see Larry's packing method: if it doesn't fit inside, strap it up on top. The higher it goes, the happier he is.
We walk all day and see absolutely no one. We find easy-to-walk-on wet sand.
And pea gravel to slog through, sinking under heavy packs.
The small rocks provide better walking and are full of interesting variety.
There are also ankle-turning large rocks, a personal favorite of mine.
We find a camp spot mid-afternoon as the tide comes up. To continue to hike at high tide would be difficult at best, impossible or dangerous at worst. Boy Scout Larry gets right to work rigging up his raccoon proof toolbox hanging system. First, he salvages some rope from a pile of driftwood logs.
I find a perfect rock to tie to the rope for tossing over a tree limb.
Larry is very happy.
We watch the sunset from camp.
After we eat, Larry rigs the box shut with two nylon raft straps as well as two heavy gauge pieces of copper wire. "Let's see the little bastards try to chew through this," he chuckles.
He hangs the box in the tree where it swings gently in the breeze all night with nary a sign of raccoons.
The next day, we climb up, over, and through a chain of small beaches. Some have signs that warn of "Impassable Beachhead." You can't make it around these points along the ocean; you have to go up and over.
I smell trouble, but Larry just straps more stuff onto his pack and tells me to get going.
Notice my lovely pack with everything packed neatly inside. The ropes are a permanent part of the trail and are very helpful for grandmas.
The view along the top is amazing.
As we peer over this cliff, I think of the news stories I've read where men push their annoying wives off cliffs and say it was an accident. I stand back when Larry asks me to come take a closer look.
We finish out the hike in a light rain. Larry loads a few more items on his pack and covers the whole thing with a flapping tarp. "Let's get out of here," he says.
