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Day 10

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Day 10 began early, as we had to meet our kayaking instructor at 9:00 AM to catch the low tide for our trip to the Dungeness Lighthouse. It was too early to eat the three course breakfast on offer at our lodge, but we were given scones and yogurt by our somewhat eerie hostess instead, and then continued on to our day on the sea. After a short drive we pulled up in front of the instructor’s house, where he was busy lashing kayaks down to a trailer. We signed the by now expected waiver against death, injury, and loss of eternal soul, and then followed him down to to the spit to launch our boats. One quick (very quick) safety briefing later, and we were pulling on sea skirts, adjusting seats, and sliding into the two person kayak. It was at this point that I began to have an inkling that perhaps sea kayaking was not my cup of tea. The kayak had clearly not been designed with someone of my stature in mind, and I found that my feet were pressed into the bulkhead in front of me, with my legs locked into a semi-tensed position in an effort to keep them under the sea skirt. My fears were confirmed when our instructor came over and pointed out that I had to keep my feet on two foot pegs to control the boat’s rudder, which were a further 6 inches closer than the bulkhead, making my position downright painful. I nonetheless bravely soldiered on, and soon we were out in the shallow waters between the Dungeness spit and the smaller Clallam spit. My next discovery was that while controlling the kayak’s rudder appeared simple, it was actually quite difficult. Without being able to see the rudder, and with only a rough feel for whether my feet were applying equal pressure to the foot pegs, it was extremely difficult to keep the boat on a straight path. Add to that the fact that the kayak turned sharply with only the slightest rudder deflection, and I soon found that we were swinging wildly across the harbor like a drunken sailor. I eventually managed to get us pointed in roughly the direction our instructor had gone, and we zig-zagged our way across the water to the opening in the spit we were trying to paddle through. It was here that I found the final problem I have with kayaking – almost every sport I enjoy uses my legs, not my arms. Cycling? Legs. Running? Legs. Soccer? Legs – in fact you aren’t even allowed to touch the ball with your arms. Kayaking? All arms, all the way. Worse, I had apparently slept on my right side all night, and my right arm immediately began cramping up. We were only 15 minutes into our 3 hours of kayaking, and I wasn’t certain I’d even make it out of the boat launch area. Libby, meanwhile, was not proving to be the most sympathetic boat mate. My complaints about my aching arm fell on deaf ears, my problems with the fit of the boat were met with instructions to “man up”, and her response to my steering issues was: “How do I always get stuck with losers when I kayak?” – apparently her sea kayaking partner on her Outward Bound trip was utterly hopeless as well. On the plus side, she was only stuck in a boat with me for a couple of hours, instead of two weeks.

I slowly began to improve once we left the channel in between the spits, however, as my arms finally began to loosen up and the current we had unknowingly been fighting abated. I was beginning to enjoy the experience, with calm waters, easy paddling, and the sun shining through the fog, when I became aware of a different problem. Our guide, who was not the most sociable of people to begin with, had apparently grown tired of our slow progress and had decided to carry on without us; we could barely see him in the distance through the fog. Visibility was very poor at this point, and we could barely see the spit, let alone the mainland. We began paddling harder, hoping to catch him, but were not able to gain any ground. Finally, we began to catch up with him, and found him stopped near a marker. When we drew close, he shouted a piece of trivia about the portion of land we were near (the section of spit was called Graveyard spit, after a massacred party of Vancouver Indians slaughtered by a local tribe in the late 1800s), pointed out another buoy off in the distance as our next goal, and then once again left us. We soon figured out that this was his standard operating procedure; the guiding gig was merely a way for him to get paid to kayak by himself, as long as he met up with us every once in a while to give us directions and another bit of trivia.

Eventually we did manage to get to the end of the spit, where we pulled our kayaks up on shore and began exploring the area around the lighthouse. We ate lunch with our guide, who actually talked to us a little bit (we found out he’s an English teacher at the local high school normally, and that his summer job is kayak tours. We also found out he’s the only person with a permit to kayak out to the end of the spit). We then took a tour of the small lighthouse and its keeper house while our guide took a nap on a picnic table.

our "guide" taking a snooze

The lighthouse is now run by a volunteer organization, and the keepers were all vacationers who were staying on the spit for a week. Apparently in exchange for answering questions and doing a few odd jobs while they’re on the spit, the keepers get the run of the place for a week at a time. Upon hearing this, we quickly grabbed a brochure about the program for my parents, and then headed back to pick up our guide. Along the way we ran into a film crew from Good Morning America, who upon hearing we were kayakers, asked to film us as we paddled away from the spit. Libby of course immediately agreed, and was excited about her chance for fame and fortune on the small screen. Our guide was somewhat less excited, as to Libby’s disappointment he ignored the shouts of advice for a better scene from the crew as we pulled away, saying he was more concerned about our safety than the film crew at the moment. So, if you happen to see a couple of kayaks paddling away from a sandy spit on a foggy morning in the near future, that’s probably us.

On the way back we soon discovered that the wind had picked up considerably, and we were now paddling into the wind all the way back. In addition to making the paddling harder, this also had the effect of spraying me with water every time Libby lifted her paddle. She soon realized the benefit of this, and before long I was getting doused with sea spray. In the meantime, I discovered the benefit of smacking her on the back with my own paddle. Neither of these activities are particularly conducive to making headway, however, so we had to give up and resume paddling or risk losing sight of our guide entirely. The trip back followed the same pattern as our trip out – our guide would leave us, and then periodically we’d come upon him stopped in the water as he pointed out another waypoint for us to head to. By this point both of us were tired and a little sunburned, so fortunately I didn’t have to deal with any more of Libby’s smug remarks of “So, who’s the slow one now?” or “Does someone feel tired? Aww, someone looks tired”. We did see some more unforgettable sights on the way back, like the huge flocks of nesting cormorants on the sea shore and the playful harbor seals with their pups that followed close behind us to see what we were.

After another hour and a half of paddling we made it back to shore, where we dragged ourselves back out of the boat and I began trying to restore circulation to my legs. We quickly unloaded our gear and tossed it in the car, and then I went back to help our instructor load up his truck with the kayaks. As soon as they were strapped down, he gave a quick “good to have you on the tour”, hopped in his car, and was gone. Libby and I then went back to our lodge to hose off and relax before our evening dinner reservations at a nice seafood restaurant. We spent most of the afternoon napping and reading, before Libby made the fateful discovery that the lodge’s movie library contained a copy of Foul Play, a Chevy Chase movie that had been a favorite of she and Emily when they were younger. Since I had never seen it, the movie was immediately put in so I could enjoy the same experience they had. Two hours later, and only a little bit traumatized, we headed into town for our final dinner in the town of Sequim.

The dinner was actually very nice, with delicious fresh seafood and a view out the window of the town boat marina. After dinner, Libby and I munched on a Tiramisu we had gotten at the restaurant as we wandered along the dock looking at the various yachts and fishing boats, discussing which ones we liked and what we would name a boat of our own. Finally, we decided the day was done and headed back to our lodge for the night.

Disclaimer: Please do not judge Marsha or Ed Baltes for allowing us to watch Foul Play as children, I am sure they were not aware that we watched it and would not have allowed it.

Thank you,

Legal Counsel for Libby Kady

Worn out for the day,

Soaked Steven and I’m glad my life jacket was well padded Libby

Day 9

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We started off the day with a three course breakfast. We are learning that every food option is made as complex as possible. The cookies left in our room were not just chocolate chip but orange oatmeal chocolate chip and earlier we were offered vanilla cherry almond scones. Which is just fine with us; it is quite delicious but just seems like more effort than needed. We drove to the Olympic National Park to view hurricane ridge. We once again found an extremely helpful ranger that knew every bend in the trail and had many options to suggest. After having climbed Mt. Si, I was itching to do some climbing and eagerly noted a Mt. Angeles on the map. I asked the ranger why he did not suggest that we take that route. In my head I was thinking he probably does not realize that we are not the typical stop in the park for a stroll kind of tourists. My ego had become a tad too big over recent successes. But the ranger was there to politely explain to me that unless I brought my ice ax and crampons he would not suggest it. Steven made a note to bring those on our next trip out here. I decided to take my burst ego and hike the well traveled and slightly paved trail up to an over look ridge. On the trail head was a warning sign warning us that an aggressive mountain goat was in the area and should he approach we should throw rocks at him. It was also noted that should we need to urinate we should do so on a rock off of the path seeing as the goat is salt deprived and would eat the ground. I nominated Steven to throw the rocks if the goat approached. I mentioned that it would be a good chance for him to defend my honor against an aggressive male.

The trip up the mountain was full of fantastic views of Mount Olympus and the Olympic Mountains, along with beautiful high mountain meadows full of

flowers and the occasional residual snow bank. We ended up taking picture after picture, often of the same things, just because of the breathtaking vista.

After about an hour of low key climbing, we eventually reached the top, where we took yet more pictures of the ocean on one side and Mount Olympus on the other.

Steven pointing out Mount Olympus

With our pictures and sight seeing complete, we headed back down the trail and then back down the mountain. Fortunately we didn’t run into any goats on the way back down, although we did run into several too-friendly deer who were sitting on the path. We eventually reached the exit for the park, and went looking for food.

I decided that for dinner we should stop in a hole in wall where the locals eat kind of a place for authentic Sequim seafood. I found a place that looked charming but run down enough that it might be perfect, The DePuis Restaurant. Walking in the restaurant was like entering the Twilight Zone. The place was completely empty but decorated with old lamps and red and blue Christmas lights everywhere. We stood inside the doorway stunned until a quiet voice drifted from the back: “Dinner for two? Follow me.” Like a typical Twilight Zone character, without thinking we followed her into the next room. The room had several elderly couples engaged in quiet conversation already seated. Each table contained an antique lamp lit with a red bulb, Christmas lights and knick kacks adorned every spare crevice. There were no ceiling lights, so everything was dim, and I could swear I saw fake stuffed birds stuck in the fake trees. It made for a very… interesting atmosphere. We ended up ordering the Dungeness crab special because of our desire to do as the locals do. It actually was being pretty good – the crab was cold, which we’d been warned about, and served whole except for the guts (for some reason called “butter”). On the way out, I insisted on getting a shot of Steven in front of the restaurant sign so we would have a permanent record of the eclectic place, and then we called it a night.

Signing off, Crab stuffed Libby and Hurricane hiking Steven

Travel question of the day:

If you had a yacht what would name it?

Day 8

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Hoh Rainforest

Hoh Rainforest

We packed up from our seaside stay and headed to the Hoh rainforest. Washington state has one of the few temperate rainforests in the northern hemisphere, and also one of the largest in the world. The rainforest is impressive. We stopped at a ranger station to pick up my by now mandatory park patch, and while we were there asked the ranger if she had any recommendations for what to see if we only had a day on this side of the park. The ranger, who was an older woman looked like a cross of Mrs. Claus and Willie Nelson, sighed and said “Honey, let me tell you a story. One of my colleagues had a lady come in and ask what she should do if she just had an hour in our park. He told her to just sit down and cry.” She then whipped out a map and began circling and marking things, ultimately coming up with a list of things to do, ordered by priority and amount of time they would take. The last thing she circled was Hurricane Ridge, where we planned on going tomorrow. As she circled it, she said, “Huh, better check on that. It might actually be sunny there.” Saying that, she grabbed the phone, dialed a number, and then balled into the phone “Of course its me you old bat! Who else would be calling! So is it sunny up there in that old station of yours? I’ve got a young couple who want to see some pretty mountains.” After a few more moments of banter, she put the phone down and said “Yup, its been clearing off up there in the afternoon, so you outta have a great view.”

The trees in the rainforest average 220 feet, often grow to over 300 feet, and are covered in moss. Because the air is filled with moisture and nutrients plants can grow without any ground contact, pulling all that they need from the air. We took a short hike in the Hall of Mosses. The name is the best adjective to describe it and we found that despite our high quality camera there was no way to capture the scene. We considered taking a longer, 6 mile round trip hike to see a nearby waterfall in the Hoh forest, (and Steven was semi-seriously considering following the same trail all the way to Mount Olympus and the Blue Glacier, a mere 18 miles away), but decided that with how little time we had today and how much there was to see, we would move on.

Our next drive was to the Sol Duc hot springs and falls. I was actually pretty excited about this; there’s a lodge there run by the National Park, and the pictures looked beautiful. To my disappointment, however, the hot springs had been turned into a commercial area and have been completely diverted into wading pools packed full of people. (Think of several chlorinated kiddie wading pools filled to the brim with people). I’m not sure where the pictures of beautiful rock pools in the brochure came from, but all that is left is a concrete water park. We thanked our instincts for not staying at the springs and hiked onward to see the Sol Duc falls. The falls were beautiful, although somewhat less impressive after having stayed by the much larger Snoqualmie Falls.

Lake Crescent

Lake Crescent

As was the norm for the day we packed back in the car and continued our drive up the Olympic Peninsula. There were several other things on our ranger provided itinerary still to do, but most of them were reasonably close to where we would be staying in Port Angeles, so we decided to just continue on and visit them later. The fact that our reservation very sternly warned that we must check in between 4:00 and 6:00 PM or risk losing our room may also have played a factor. Along the way though, we drove past the gorgeous Crescent Lake, a huge mountain glacier lake. It was so beautiful that we couldn’t just pass it by. We drove along until we found the same scenic overlook that Steven had visited with his family when they vacationed here, and hopped out do dip our dusty feet in the freezing water and snap a few pictures. We then continued on for the final 20 minutes of driving to our lodge.

As we approached the place we were staying for the next three days (outside the town of Sequim, pronounced Squim, not in Port Angles as we had thought), we began to get slightly worried. Our Garmin had us winding up into some hills outside of town, nowhere near the beach or the mountains, and with nothing to see except goat farms and some residential houses. It wasn’t looking promising, and we began to think perhaps we should have stayed a few extra days at our ocean-side hotel. Our fears were confirmed when we were led up to a small house, with nothing looking like a hotel to be seen. At this point I began to panic just a little bit. We pulled out our reservation from the lodge, and thankfully noticed that while we were in the right area it had slightly different directions to where we would be staying. We followed these new directions around the corner, and there found what is basically a very upscale, new-age bed and breakfast. (The Garmin had taken us to the owner’s house, apparently). The Lost Mountain Lodge is actually in a pretty area, hidden in trees with a view of the mountains to the rear, and about 5 minutes from the ocean itself. The people who run the place are perhaps a little over the top (they speak in a whisper at all times, use nothing but organic products, and talk of taking a holistic approach to life), but the room is very nice, modern, and spacious. Unfortunately I just can’t quite shake the feeling that we’re visiting a rather stuffy relative.

Until tomorrow,

Meditating Steven and Centered Libby

Travel question of the day: Is it ironic that we got lost going to Lost Mountain Lodge?

Day 7

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Today was a much more relaxed day than any of our previous days. After a week of furious activity, exhaustion finally began to set in as both Libby and I dealt with the various aches and pains we’d accumulated in our dash up Mount Si and then later rock climbing. We therefore decided to spend more time just sitting around today and less time exploring, even though there are tons of neat things in the area. The fact that we awoke to the sound of waves crashing against the shore this morning through our open window didn’t hurt our desire to just stay put either. I woke up fairly early as usual, and spent the early hours of the morning reading and looking out at the ocean while Libby slept. When she woke up, she joined me for a while until we both decided we were too hungry to sit any longer. Unfortunately, we only had two options for food: eating at the overpriced and mediocre lodge diner, or driving 40 minutes into Forks. Deciding that some variation in our diet and the possibility of internet were worth the drive, we set off. As we drove, we were very impressed by the beautiful scenery; the road was surrounded on all sides by dense forest, with hanging moss. The road was shrouded with morning fog, adding an ethereal quality to everything, and we occasionally caught majestic glimpses of the ocean as we went along. (Libby here, quite impressed with the writing skill in this blog entry, nice work Steven. Haha) Despite all this, I couldn’t shake a foreboding sense of doom that strengthened with every mile as we came closer to Forks. Shaking this off as merely the aftereffects of my tiredness, I concentrated on trying to find a coffee shop as we came into the town. It wasn’t until I parked next to a cafe that I realized something was horribly wrong. Giggling teenage girls were everywhere, posters of frighteningly pale people adorned all the buildings on the street, and every sign proclaimed “Welcome Twilight fans!”. I had unknowingly stumbled into the heart of Twilight fandom: the book series was set in Forks, Washington. My sense of horror continued to mount as we ordered our Sparkle Vampire Lattes, collected our Team Edward napkins, and sat down at a table displaying various trinkets “Hand carved by members of Jacob’s Tribe”. When I finally got around to mentioning this to Libby, she answered that she’d known the significance of Forks all along, and couldn’t wait to stop in the Vampire Den souvenir shop next door after our coffee. One week into our marriage, and I’ve already been utterly betrayed by my wife. I have to admit though, that exploring the shop with Libby was actually a lot of fun. The place was totally over the top, with

Libby with her two favorite men

fake grass floor, fake trees that glittered holding the ceiling up, and of course dozens of girls seriously contemplating the merits of a “Bella for life” bracelet verses a life sized poster of Edward staring longingly at them. Eventually I managed to pry Libby away from the place, and we headed to a pizzeria for some lunch (“Twilight Menu available”), the local outfitter and grocery for snack foods and first aid supplies (“Twilight Merchandise available! The location Bella shopped for her food!”), and drove past the RV park on the way out of town (“Welcome Twilighters!”).

Thankfully, once past the RV park, there were no more signs of teenage angst or sparkly vampires, and I was able to get back to enjoying the beautiful scenery under now sunny skies. Upon arriving back at our lodge, we decided to spend the rest of the day just sitting on the beach watching the waves, and put off any site seeing for later. We grabbed our camp chairs, a couple of books and sweatshirts (the high today was 62 degrees, and it was windy), and headed down to the ocean. We set up our chairs, kicked off our shoes, and I was all prepared for several hours of relaxed reading, when Libby sprung her final surprise of the day on me. She’d picked up a paperback copy of Twilight just for me at the gift shop, so I too could join in the mania. Deciding that resistance was at last futile, I gave in, cringing only momentarily at the cover (ask me about the quote on it sometime), and spent the rest of the day reading about vampires.

Sittin on the dock of bay,

Blood sucking Steven and Team Jacob Libby

Travel question of the day: Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?

Day 6

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The day started very early as we met with our guide in North Bend to equip for our rock climb. We drove to Little Si and hiked part of the trail to a rock face. Our guide is originally from Switzerland and spends part of the year in Washington running his store and guiding trips to Rainier and Baker and part of the year in Switzerland leading trips up Matterhorn, Mont Blanc and Eiger. Steven soaked up every detail of this man’s conversation while privately making plans for us to join him at Mount Baker next year and in Switzerland for an epic adventure in two years. The instructor taught us the basic knot ties, harness information and how to belay. He then scurried up the rock face in a spider-man style motion to establish the top rope. Before we knew it he was back down the rock and continued his conversation. He was more than thrilled when he found out that we are newly weds and stated that he thinks the trust involved in rock climbing to be a perfect metaphor for the trust involved in marriage. The fact that I would be holding the rope that kept Steven safe on the rock was beautifully poetic to this mountain man. I think for Steven it was a bit terrifying. Steven was the first one up the 40 foot face. I was very proud of him. Rock climbing is awkward. You have to trust that the rope will catch you, that your feet can hold on the rock, and that your hands can cling to the tiniest bumps in the rock. Once you realize to trust your partner and the rope you can focus on the rock and your path up it. Steven and I are both terrified of heights so the most rewarding part of the climb is reaching the top and being able to look down and around. Once you have reached the top you realize that you are safe and it is a definite adrenaline rush. We managed three different climbs with the middle climb being the most difficult and the last climb being the tallest at nearly 80 feet. By the end of the climbs we were sore and worn out. Our guide Martin was excellent. A well seasoned pro, he didn’t have any of the cockiness that his skill would allow him to have. He was encouraging and made one feel successful even while splayed against the rock with legs and arms jetting out in different angles quivering. More impressive, he could swarm up the face in seconds to where you were stuck, and give you tips on foot placement and “smearing” (using the flats of your feet to grip the rock where there are no holds) all while clinging rope-less to a spot you would swear there was no purchase to be had. On the hike back he and Steven talked about “football” (soccer), cycling, and of course mountaineering equipment. Steven was ecstatic to learn that the shop was having a sale that very day, as several equipment representatives had given our guide their demo models to try.

Steven belaying down the face

Libby at the top of the smaller face

While driving back into North Bend Steven began second guessing his career as a software engineer, and idly wondering about the qualifications for becoming a mountain guide. I dutifully listened while he basked in his dream. Once in the store I quickly realized that Steven had forgotten about the excel spreadsheet that he had created to calculate our budget and every expense as he drooled over top of the line carbon poled tents. Meanwhile, I eyed a used pair of hiking boots that were $30 and happened to be my size. They turned out to be very high end boots, and Martin was excited to sell them, seeing as they belonged to his daughter who grew very quickly and hardly wore them. With my feet now safe for the rest of the trip, I walked over to find Steven just as Martin suggested that they go out to the sidewalk to assemble the tent. While I admit it was quite a deal on the tent and very impressive looking, a tent designed for hurricane winds weighing a mere two pounds might be a tad overkill for the forests of Indiana. I also realized that with his love of high tech gear and his lingering dream of being a mountain guide, Steven might walk out of the store with that tent. It was at that point that I had to be the voice of reason, pull him out of the store and put a slight dent in his dream. I did assure him however that he is a brilliant software developer. We went back in the store to thank Martin and tip him for the wonderful climbing lesson. With a slightly deflated ego I took Steven to the local bar for a burger and homemade potato chips.

The town of North Bend has a mountain charm to it. After discovering the Twin Peaks was filmed in North Bend and Snoqualimie I have an unusual desire to watch it even though I have never previously heard of it. While there we also found ourselves in the middle of a neat tradition: the town was shutting itself down in preparation for a block party. All the streets were closed off, the shops were all putting up sidewalk displays, and bands were gearing up for what looked like a great party. Unfortunately, we had to turn down our guide’s invitation to stick around, as we had a reservation to keep four hours away.

We had an epic drive to the Olympic National Forest for our stay at the Kalaloch Lodge. The Lodge offers both cabins and rooms, both of which have beautiful views of the ocean. We decided to stay in the lodge itself, however, after reading about one couple’s experience with racoons while staying in the lodge’s cabins. The lodge has the smell of a summer camp cabin and dining hall. It is rustic but perfect in it’s simplicity especially considering that it is perched overlooking the ocean. The only problem Steven has is that not only is there no cell phone service, there is no internet either.

Out in the middle of nowhere,

Ocean-side Libby and Software specialist Steven

Travel question of the day: Where does the word honeymoon come from? And why did our travel agent mention that we’re on ours to every place we stay? Awkward. Currently there’s a heart shaped caramel brownie on my night stand.

Day 5

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View of Mt. Rainier from Mt. Si

Today was the day to climb Mount Si. All week we’d seen the mountain in the distance from our hotel and the surrounding area, and climbing its baby brother Little Si earlier in the week had convinced us we needed to climb Big Si as well. At 4,000 feet, it was more than twice the height of its neighbor. We got a slightly later start than we had planned, but we scarfed down a breakfast of granola bars and were on the trail by 10:00 AM. We were worried about getting a late start, so we started off at hard pace. The trail was a steady uphill climb, with an average grade of nearly 17% over the climb (often steeper, with no flat portions at all). This, combined with our somewhat overloaded pack, made for a difficult hike. Steven was of course very excited about his new boots, although it took him a little bit of time to get used to their extra weight as he kept stubbing his toes on roots. I was less excited about my choice to just grab a random pair of socks before we left. I ended up with a pair of thin cotton socks, and before long my entire heel was covered in a huge blister. We continued on up the hill, still moving quickly (Steven had now discovered the elevation feature of his watch, so I now got regular updates on both height and distance). Along the way we passed a lot of people; the trail was a very popular one despite its difficulty. Finally, after nearly an hour and a half of constantly grinding upwards, we came through the trees onto the summit basin. The feeling upon reaching the top was incredible – it was cool, brilliantly sunny, and we could see for miles and miles. We scampered around up top for about 45 minutes like little kids with goofy grins, taking picture after picture and just enjoying the scenery as the occasional small cloud washed over the peak.

Note the goofy Camera carrying setup. No, he didn't hike with it like that.

Finally, we decided we should head back down or we’d miss our plans for dinner, and we began the 4 mile trek back down the mountain. We made good time and soon we were back in the car, driving through the nearby town of North Bend on our way back to the hotel. We were way ahead of schedule though, so on a whim we decided to stop at the small mountaineering shop on Main street that we’d noticed that morning on the way to the mountain. That was when I realized I may have made a slight miscalculation – the shop was full of high end mountaineering and backpacking gear, despite its small size, and Steven was in heaven. I had to act fast in order to escape with our budget intact. The reason we’d actually stopped was because I had mentioned it might be fun to take some rock climbing lessons earlier in the trip, and Steven had noticed a sign for mountain guiding in their window. We didn’t think we’d be able to actually get any lessons in; after all, we only had the next morning before we had to leave for the Olympic Peninsula, but we thought it might be fun to check I quickly asked the man behind the counter if they offered rock climbing lessons, and to my surprise, he said they did. He said they could arrange some time to take us out, but we had to turn him down, saying that we had to leave tomorrow afternoon. He looked somewhat surprised, and said “Oh, you mean like now? I guess I could – the shop isn’t that busy this afternoon.” We once again had to demur, due to our dinner plans. The only time we really could do it would be the next day in the morning, which was asking a bit much. But then, a thin middle-aged man who was working on a piece of gear nearby stood up and said “Tomorrow morning? I could do that. You guys want to do a half day right?”. At this point we were a little shocked, and Steven looked a bit reluctant as if things were moving too fast. Before he could say anything I agreed to the lessons and filled out the paperwork. As I was signing the waiver form that warned us of all the potential death, dismemberment, and general mayhem that the shop wasn’t liable for, the guy working the cash register quietly said “Wow, you guys are really lucky. That’s the owner of the shop that’s taking you out”.

After agreeing to meet the next morning at 7:45 AM at the shop, we headed back to our hotel to shower and change for our evening plans: dinner at Tillicum Village. Tillicum Village is a harbor cruise, dinner and Native American show all wrapped up into one that Steven had gone on when he was a kid visiting with his family, so we decided to give it a try. The cruise itself was beautiful, as we took an hour long scenic route around the harbor to see everything (we took photo after photo of Mount Rainier – apparently its only visible from Seattle about a fifth of the year). The guide announcing everything was less interesting; I once again found myself zoning out, especially after the poor guy dressed up in Indian blankets got up to talk about the Native American heritage. He obviously hadn’t done the tour speech much before, and there were more than a few awkward pauses (my favorite: “Yeah, so I’m Native American as well, and its really neat to do all this stuff with our heritage. Well, not my heritage. I’m Nez Perce, from Idaho.”) Once at the island, we were greeted with cups of steamed clams, which we ate and then dropped the shells on the crushed shell path. We then went inside and had a buffet dinner with traditionally prepared baked salmon, and watched the dance show recreating Northwestern tribal dances. I think it was at some point during the dance that I began to realize the show and

Libby learning to skip rocks

village was a reenactment, and not put on by actual Native Americans. It might have been the fact that many of the dancers had blond hair, blue eyes, and completely white skin. I was somewhat miffed to discover that it wasn’t completely authentic, and that the long house we were in was built for the Seattle World Fair, not by Indians toiling for their chief. We still had a great time though, and after wards skipped rocks on the beach and then enjoyed a beautiful nighttime boat ride across the sound back to Seattle. We made it back to the hotel late that night and packed our bags since we would be checking out of our hotel early the next morning before our rock climbing lesson.

Until tomorrow,

Libby of the made up Ibilibbish Tribe and Boot Happy Steven

Traveling question of the day: What happens when you do not eat all day, climb a mountain and end up at a buffet?

We decided to answer our own question: see below.

Day 4

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After all of the hiking, driving, and general mayhem of the previous several days, we decided that Day 4 was going to be a slightly more relaxing day for us. It is, after all, our honeymoon. To start things off, we traveled back to Seattle to look for the perfect spot to eat breakfast. Libby scanned through the list of restaurants on the Garmin looking for a cute sounding name, while I looked out the window for a cute looking cafe on our route. Unfortunately, we took too long searching, and ended up with the perfect lunch spot instead. We had a delicious meal anyway, and then decided to head back to REI to pick up a pair of backpacking boots for me to use. The experiences on Mount Rainier the previous day had given us an incentive to climb (big) Mount Si, and we wanted to have the perfect equipment. Besides, I needed a pair of boots anyway, and would you look at that, we get 10% off all purchases from our own wedding registry! I spent my usual hour or so examining all my options, analyzing the differences, trying the boots on, re-analyzing the differences, comparing the price, and starting to analyze the differences yet again, until Libby finally grabbed a pair and said “We’ll take them”. Meanwhile, Libby was tempted by a pair of flashy red trail running shoes herself, but she exhibited excellent self control and decided that she couldn’t really justify them given that she already had two pairs of top-of-the-line boots. That those boots were back in Fort Wayne was a separate issue, but she decided she could make due with her running shoes for Mount Si.

Once the purchases at REI were complete (other items picked up included a headlamp in case we decided to do some early morning or evening hiking, and a small trowel and portable pack of toilet paper in case the trail went on just a little too long), we left Seattle and headed north towards the wine country of Woodinille. Several wineries make their home there, and we decided to stop and take a tour of one of the largest, Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery. I found the tour to be extremely interesting, as our guide explained the differences between the various wines and grapes, how the different wines are made, and the history of wine making in the area. Meanwhile, Libby found the tour to be extremely boring, as the guide explained the tedious details about wines and grapes, how the wines are made, and the very dry history of the area. It turns out that while I know nothing of wine, Libby knows nothing about paying attention to tour guides. She perked up later, however, when the guide mentioned the wine tasting at the end of the tour. There, she was able to school me on pretending to be snooty during a tasting, as she enjoyed dropping adjectives like “floral”, “hints of berry”, “apricot finish”, and “oak-aged amber” in an aristocratic, British voice.

Once the tour was done, we explored the grounds of the winery a bit, enjoying the beautiful weather. We were a little disappointed to find that there were no fields of grapes to look at, as the grapes are actually grown in the eastern Washington desert, but we quickly moved on and headed back to our Lodge. Upon arriving there, Libby immediately turned in for her usual nap, while I headed out for my first run with the Garmin wrist watch (geeky data galore!). We then decided it was time to go in search of dinner, and stumbled across a small Italian restaurant only a couple of minutes from our hotel, complete with large, jolly Italian owner. We spent the rest of the evening there, enjoying the delicious food and reflection on our travels.

Signing off,

Ravioli Stuffed Lib and Wine Expert Steven

Travel question of the day: Which is better a good cup of coffee or a good glass of wine?

Day 14

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Today was the day that held the greatest anticipation for us in our tour of London. We had decided to visit the Tower of London and the British Museum, both some of the most historic and famous sites in London. Both also take several hours, so we knew we were in for a long day.
Of course, the day couldn’t start without going back to Emirates Stadium (home of Arsenal Football Club, for the uninformed). Yes, we’d already been there once. No, we hadn’t done all the sightseeing we wanted, or bought everything we planned.
So we caught the tube for the short ride to the stadium, and took a quick walking tour of the exterior of the stadium. After picking up a few more souvenirs, and getting a couple (dozen) pictures, we got back on the tube to head for central London.
Once there, we walked around the tower, saw some of the medieval weaponry set up in the walls, and headed in to the castle itself.
For some of you who might not be aware, the Tower of London isn’t really a tower at all. It’s a very large castle. Not one of those namby-pamby fantasy ones like at Neuschwanstein either. This was a proper Medieval castle, with dungeons, dual walls, portcullises, crenellations, and a moat. Admittedly, the moat wasn’t as impressive as it might have been, having been filled in part way and turned into a sunken grassy lawn, but the castle was still a serious defensive fortress.
Another indication that the Tower of London was a real castle, and not a mere palace, was that the castle is an entire complex, housing what was once a bustling village of several thousand people within its walls. In fact, the governor still lives there (complete with machine-gun equipped guards), as do many of the Yeoman of the Queen’s royal guard.
So, we headed into the castle. Directly upon entering the castle, we ran headlong into a Yeoman, who was preparing to start a guided tour of the castle. He immediately began shouting in his best parade-ground voice to gather around him, and feeling that disagreeing with him might be a bad idea, we did so.
The Yeoman proceeded to take us on one of the best tours I’ve ever been a part of. To become a Yeoman, you must have served for 22 years in the military of England, received a number of commendations and service medals (good conduct, etc.), and have achieved a certain rank (at least that of Sergeant Major). Apparently the job also requires good acting ability, as our Yeoman was a very talented and entertaining guide. He told us much of the history of the tower itself, how the moat had once been actually filled with water that was flushed by the Thames every day (bad idea; when tide is low, the moat merely becomes a muddy path), and how they fixed this by hiring an expensive Dutch consultant who said, “dig it deeper”. He also told us how this was an even worse idea, because now the river couldn’t completely flush the moat, and it was used by all 2,500 people as a sewer, as well as the dumping grounds for the local butchers. It was also apparently used as a play-pool for a pair of polar bears, because the king couldn’t figure out what to do with the animals after receiving them as a gift from another monarch. The bears didn’t last too long there (cholera), and neither did the deep moat, by English standards (a mere 500 years). It was filled in and turned into the grassy lawn mentioned earlier.
The guide also told us about the Tower’s history as a prison and execution area, which was not the Tower’s original purpose. Apparently the Tower wasn’t actually that great of a prison; 1 in 40 prisoners escaped from it. The first prisoner, in fact, escaped. He was an old bishop, who managed to get the guards drunk and use the ropes binding the wine casks to climb down the outside of the wall. We learned that a Scottish guy did actually enter the Tower through Traitors Gate (a water entrance, by the way), but spent less than a half hour there before being taken out to be executed at the commoner’s execution grounds elsewhere in London (insert several comments about the uncivilized nature of Scots; our guide was an Englishman through and through).
After the tour we decided to see the Crown Jewels. The jewels were lined up in cases and along side it people stood on a moving walkway to see them. Beside the walkway were descriptions of every jewel on display. Of course, most people just hop on the walkway and get a glimpse of the gems on their way by. I had to read every description for each display before hopping on. As I explained to Lib, “It has a bunch of cool stuff about the coronation ceremony and the significance of all the items. Otherwise they’re just pretty jewels.” This didn’t seem to move Lib much, however. Apparently she did just want to see the pretty jewels. After the jewels we saw all of the golden plates owned by royalty, not the most interesting stuff.
The last thing we saw before leaving the Tower of London was the Royal armory museum in the White Tower (the big famous building). This tower had originally been the royal quarters, and was where some of the original prisoners were held. Now it held a display of many of the kings’ armor, weapons, royal artillery, and statues of various kings and their horses. It also held a massive display on King Henry VIII (put together by the History Channel for some anniversary this year). This display was very flashy, and while it drew your eye, it was rather hard to read every single descriptor as is my normal practice, due to the lights in displays flashing on and off and then strobing brilliantly at you. The scrolling video displays, showing armor spinning in 3-D with statistics scrolling by like something from a Bond movie, also looked neat, but seemed out of place in this Medieval setting. Once again, it also made it hard to actually learn about the piece of armor, because you had to sit through the entire video to get the full story. The biggest problem with the whole display, of course, was that King Henry VIII wasn’t a particularly nice fellow, and it seemed a little out of place to have 3 entire levels of the building dedicated to him, with banners saying things like “Warrior, Sportsman, Monarch” everywhere. As our guide said, there were a couple of other things you could append to that list.
The most interesting thing we saw in the Henry VIII exhibit was a display on his armor and how it changed over his life. Apparently, Henry was a very avid sportsman, taking part in both Jousting and Foot combat games. As such he had many suits of armor made for him over the years. His first suit, at age 24, was that of a powerfully built, tall man. He was 6’1”, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. Over the years, the waist expanded in size, while the height slowly contracted. By the time he was 54, his armor looked like northing more than a metal beach ball with a few odd spiky bits. One thing that was consistent across all the suits, though, was the codpiece. Our guide had mentioned this disturbing part of the armor as well, calling it “one of the first experiments with psychological warfare.”
I thought it best to leave this historical part of this entry to Steven and take over from here. Also, the following incidents are still a point of agitation and I don’t want him to “edit history”. After our wonderful time exploring the Tower, Steven was a happy, happy traveler having read most display inscriptions and having soaked up all the tour guide had to offer. He was giddy with excitement and relished explaining in more detail things not covered in the tour. The next part of the story needs some explanation before I can continue. There were three things Steven wished to accomplish while in London: 1. Buy a raincoat 2. Eat at a proper hole-in-the-wall fish and chip shop 3. Purchase a pair of Wellies (rain boots) for me. Having now been in London for several days it was a severe disappointment that Steven had not been caught in a torrential downpour nor had he eaten any fish and chips. But low and behold directly outside of the Tower the greasy aroma of a true fish and chips shop hit our dear Steven. I had not thought I could have seen him more elated. He rushed over to the shop and bought two orders of fish and chips. After dousing our fish in the famous brown sauce and burying the chips in a mound of ketchup I found a perfect bench under a tree to alleviate our now roaring stomachs.
We each had a bite of fish and one chip before a pigeon decided to release it’s contents on both of our lunches and down Steven’s shirt. It put a bit of a dent in Steven’s perfect day and it probably didn’t help that I could hardly contain my giggles at the unfortunate events. The situation didn’t improve, no matter how hard I tried to explain that the giggles came out of disbelief. Steven was able to change and had resolved to go back for more fish and chips but I couldn’t get the sight of a pile of steaming pigeon-poo on the chips out of mind to be able to stomach the dish at that time. It figured that just when Steven had let off a bit of steam we passed a large poster, surrounded by people of the hippie persuasion, appealing to us to “help the birds”. We wandered around not in the best of spirits until we stumbled into the Borough Street Market. It, like our Cambridge B&B, was a mini oasis in a troubling day. The market was full of excellent smelly cheeses, breads, and sweets which instantly grasped Steven’s attention. We settled on a cheddar cheese, a loaf of crusty bread, chocolate cheesecake and chocolate mousse cake. We ate our meal in a courtyard outside of an old church. Our good moods had returned and with Steven’s poopy shirt stuffed on the side of my backpack we headed to Stamford Bridge, home of the Chelsea football club. Like traitors we walked into the official stadium shop with our Arsenal souvenirs tucked away in the backpack. Steven decided it was necessary to buy a jersey so he would have a shirt to wear. (Since the pigeon incident he had been wearing a thin running top). Since realizing that, given time, I would probably be converted to being a Chelsea fan by way of Steven’s fanatical explanations of the Chelsea team during the season, I too purchased a jersey. We took the tube back to central London and decided that while in London it would be necessary to see the new Harry Potter movie. On our way to the theatre we walked passed Trafalgar Square. In the square on the fourth plinth as a part of modern art an artist has decided to put a different person doing their occupation on the plinth every hour. This hour happened to be a photographer who had set a rope circle down below for people to step in to get their picture taken. Most did the typical stand and cheesy smile routine. Steven and I decided that after a rough experience with modern art two days before we would make the most of this experience. So we walked in the rope circle and did a dramatic movie star style smooch to the cheer of the crowds around us. We left our first public art performance and headed to the movie theatre. It was the most wonderful movie theatre imaginable. The screen was huge and had an actual curtain. We sat on the top level and had great seats. Two and half hours later we decided that although the movie wasn’t great it was a once in a lifetime experience. Beyond tired we headed to the subway to get to the B&B. It was packed full but we squeezed our way through. Noticing a rare empty door on the train I grabbed Steven’s arm and thought I was very clever having found a door that no one else was going through. Well the joke was on me as my shoes squished and went sliding through what had once been the contents of one’s stomach. Now I could empathize with Steven’s morning experience. This put me in a slightly grumpy (slightly???) mood the rest of the way. We made it back and snuck into the house so as not to wake anyone.

Signing off,
Stinky Shirt Steven and Libby the First

Travel question of the day: Which is worse getting you and your food pooed on by a pigeon or getting vomit on your shoes?

Day 13

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PJ, the owner of the bed and breakfast, is an Arsenal fan through and through. He is a carpenter and worked on the new stadium and the surrounding apartments. In the morning we had a lengthy conversation with us about the team. He is probably in his last 60s, and tears up when he talks about some of the famous players and his work on the stadium. Before we were able to get out of the door he wanted to discuss Arsenal and our stay in London in great detail. We would learn that we needed to schedule in an extra half hour for breakfast every day to discuss our day’s plan with PJ and Breda (his wife). The Emirates Stadium is only three stops from the bed and breakfast so we made that our first destination of the day. The stadium was glorious. It was built to create an atmosphere on game day and despite Steven’s loyalty to Chelsea, even he was excited to walk around. We spent a good hour at the stadium and also found out that tours were already booked for the next three days. Our next stop was Westminster Abbey. The abbey was very impressive, but was more of a royal memorial than a church. It actually felt cluttered due to the sheer number of royal tombs and memorials. It took away from the majesty and I couldn’t imagine worshipping there. Each royal figure was trying to outdo their predecessor’s tomb and the end result was more like a childish show of one-upmanship than anything.
We next headed to the Apollo Victoria theatre to attempt to get “day-of” cheap theatre tickets to see Wicked. I was more than excited and this was only augmented by the elaborate marquee posters outside of the theatre. Believe it or not, there were very cheap tickets available for that night’s show; however, there were also more expensive, much nicer seats available as well. And, well, we were in London at the heart of theatre district and who could pass up those seats? Certainly not me. Before Steven’s jaw had time to hit the floor the tickets were purchased and I had skipped out of the theatre.
We made our way to the outside of Buckingham Palace, and after seeing the admission charge decided that the outside was indeed very pretty. We grabbed some lunch from a convenient Japanese restaurant and headed to Green Park for a bit of a break.
Afterwards, we walked to the Tate Britain to view some historic works before our big theatre date. Being the thoughtful fiancé that I am I thought that perhaps Steven would rather experience modern artwork considering he had gotten his fill of historic works in Germany. The Tate Modern was on the other side of Thames and there happened to be a boat going there that left in two minutes time. With haste I led the way, barreling across the street and down the sidewalk to the boarding dock. At the site of the two tourists at full sprint the nice man at the dock held the boat until we arrived. We had a pleasant ride down the Thames and made it to the Tate Modern. Unfortunately, Steven was not impressed with the museum and honestly I was not either. I overheard one elderly woman say to her friend at one exhibit, “I think it’s like the emperor’s new clothes.” It was amusingly true. Steven’s breaking point in the museum came after reading the very cerebral artist statement accompanying a mirror hung on the gallery wall, mine came after seeing a trashed room with an artist statement that I did not bother to read. We made it through the museum in a record forty minutes making it to every floor while walking the stairs. Steven admittedly found a couple pieces he enjoyed. We got out of the museum and crossed another London landmark, the Millennium Bridge. Being attached to the Tate Modern, it too had a very new-age approach to its design. And, like the Tate Modern, Steven wasn’t too impressed with it either. We did get to experience our first London rain. Luckily I had purchased ponchos and an umbrella in Germany for our travels. In fact, at the time I had been very smug for saving money by getting an inexpensive, 1 euro poncho instead of a nice rain jacket. I eventually managed to get the trash-bag-like poncho over my head in an attempt to stay somewhat dry. It was Steven’s turn to be smug now, as he passed on the poncho while laughing at me and used the mini umbrella.
We made it to the Apollo Victoria and really enjoyed the musical. It was excellent. The set was the most amazing set we had ever seen, with moving gears and even an animatronic dragon built into the stage. The only distraction was the drop of water leaking from the ceiling onto the stage. The character that played the disabled sister was wheeled in chair directly under the drip. It seemed like more of a deliberate move than a normal stage position. When we were exiting the theatre the stairways had flooded and by the time we reached the door it was a downpour. We ran to our station and slightly damp made it back to our B&B rather late (12:00). It turns out that it rained more in the six hours that night than it had in months.
Signing off,
Soaking Steven and Lacking Proper Rain Coverage Libby
Traveling question of the day: Why is there a lack of raincoats for sale in a city that is notorious for rain?

Day 12

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After a nice breakfast with the Harris family, (Steven continued to sample English foods, discovering set honey) we discussed books and movies. Rhiannon lent Steven the autobiography of Stephen Fry and let him borrow a Harry Potter audio book, which is also narrated by Stephen Fry. We made it to the train station, said our goodbyes, and had a very hot ride to London. Arriving at King’s Cross Station, the first priority was finding platform 9 ¾. Seeing as we arrived on platform 9 we thought this would be an easy task. After wandering around a bit we decided to give up. We stopped walking to turn the other direction when we noticed a sign in front of us, “Lost? Are you looking for platform 9 ¾?” Apparently, others had done the same as us and probably in annoyance at the tourists’ need for directions someone at the station had posted the sign with detailed map on how to proceed around the corner. After a quick stop at the site and a photo we headed to the underground.
The owners of the bed and breakfast we would be staying at gave us excellent directions and for the first time on the trip we found the place in one try. The owners were very pleasant and instantly commented on our young age, which seems to be a typical remark when we check in. We have discovered that bed and breakfasts (called pensions in Germany) are the way to stay in Europe and UK. The rates are cheaper than a hotel and the accommodations and way better than at a hostel. The biggest benefit, however, comes from the interaction with the owners. The owners are always able to provide the best information for site seeing and traveling. They also provide a historical insight to the area and are very friendly. Breakfast is included with the stay and they put the US continental breakfast to shame. Besides the offering of cereals, breads, jams, and yogurts, the owners will cook up a full English breakfast if you wish. After dropping our bags we headed back into central London when The Hunger struck. I, in my zombie-like state, was of no use so I passed the handy Rick Steve’s guide off to Steven and he was able to decide and navigate us to our restaurant, The Opera House. It is a hidden restaurant on the second floor of a building, so it was not a touristy place but a typical English pub. After a delicious meal of meat pie and bangers and mash, Steven surprised me by ordering dessert, a raspberry sponge pudding. With The Hunger abated we set off to wander. We managed to walk past Big Ben, Admiralty Arch, Parliament, St. James Park, 10 Downing Street (kind of, it’s all blocked off now), Government ministries, and the Horse Guard. One of the highlights of Steven’s day was when we walked through Trafalgar square and saw all of the monuments there. Thinking I had recognized the historical figure on the top of the large and impressive column in the middle of the square, I asked Steven “Is that Napoleon?” Steven couldn’t hush me quickly enough, and after scoping out the area to make sure no one had heard my offensive remark about Lord Nelson, he went on to explain that this was possibly the worst place in the world to confuse the two men. Oops. We walked to Leicester Square to see the Harry Potter movie but it would be playing too late, so we had ice cream and decided we would need to come back. We made it back to the B&B for a little R&R.
Signing off,
Snoozing Steven and Lounging Lib