OLYMPIC NATIONAL FOREST, HOODSPORT, WA:
Today, I set off for the Olympic National Forest, eager to tackle the Dry Creek Trail near Hoodsport, WA. The drive was mostly in darkness, my headlights cutting through the early morning haze, as I anticipated the sunrise behind the mountains surrounding Lake Cushman. I made the most of my quiet time on the road, letting music fill the space and my mind wander through thoughts of gratitude for the Pacific Northwest. And, preparing for my “trail thought” for the day: “Why do I do all of this?” The hiking, the journaling—what’s the deeper journey behind it all?
Navigating the winding roads, the smooth pavement eventually gave way to a rugged gravel path, a reminder that every adventure comes with its own bumps and obstacles. Dodging large potholes felt a little like a dance with fate, keeping the car from veering too close to the lake’s edge. The final trial I faced before arriving at my destination was the one-car bridge I encountered. Maybe a test of faith, but I crossed it safely and finally parked, relieved to have completed that little rodeo.
The Journey…
With my boots laced up and a mission, I faced the trail ahead. It was time to embark on 8 miles of exploration, with an elevation gain of 1,198 feet, and about 4 hours on the trail. Today’s hike turned out to be quite the adventure, more challenging than I anticipated, even compared to some of the tougher trails I’ve tackled before. The first half mile started off on a gated gravel road that hugged the lakeside, flanked by properties that were clearly marked with “Private Property” signs. I couldn’t help but think that without clear trail markers, some less cautious hikers might have wandered off course.
Eventually, the gravel road led me to a trailhead marked with a sign: “Dry Creek Trail.” Leaving the road behind, the trail continued to follow alongside beautiful Lake Cushman, which had a soft shade of green today. It was lovely and serene. So far, nothing too strenuous. Along the way, I even spotted a couple of tree houses! A bit further up the trail, I came across a stunning rock wall, adorned with thick, vibrant, green moss and water trickling down through every nook and cranny. It felt like nature’s little gift, motivating me for what was yet to come. That’s when my trials began: an unforgiving ascent that was as steep as it was long. It felt like it would never end, and every step was a challenge. As I climbed higher, I found the trail was a bit overgrown, and I was grateful for my bug repellent—because it was definitely put to the test! Closer to the top, I needed to navigate through patches of water and deep mud, some of which was impossible to avoid. It was a real slog, and I could feel my expectations building for what lay ahead—a serene creekside retreat that I hoped would make it all worthwhile. The creek was beautiful, an made for a nice resting stop. I took my pack off, sat on a rock and enjoyed a little snack before heading back.
The descent was a bit lighter than the ascent, but still presented challenges with its steep slope, I managed to have a little tumble trying to negotiate myself and my backpack under a fallen tree. My ego brused, but the pack is fine. Reaching the end of the trail, and found myself grappling with a sense of disappointment. Was this hike as tough as it felt, and for what? Yet, that feeling didn’t linger for long. I quickly reminded myself that it’s the journey that matters most. Life can often feel like a struggle, sometimes leaving us with little to show for our efforts. But it’s the persistence, the grit to keep pushing forward, that shapes our stories and makes them meaningful. And today, despite the challenges, I walked away with a tale worth telling.
Gratitude…
Gratitude was on my mind earlier, as I drove to this waypoint. Today I’m thankful for our little corner of our country. The Pacific Northwest has been treating us to some incredible weather lately, and today was no exception—a brilliant blue sky, temperatures climbing into the 80s, with the kind of clarity that makes everything feel fresh and alive. The blue sky doesn’t show up as often as it does in some other places. But when it finally makes an appearance… Wow! I think rain is our secret ingredient, washing away all the grime, and what we’re left with is just stunning—clear skies that stretch endlessly. But the best part? When the sun comes out, there’s this unspoken energy in the air. People can’t help but smile, and I can feel that friendly spirit as I pass by other hikers. It’s a reminder of how these little moments in nature can foster connections with others. Something to truly cherish. Today, I’m just really grateful for the beauty around me and the joy it brings.
Reflections…
I laced up my boots and stepped onto the path. I couldn’t help but think about the journey ahead—not just the winding trail that was before me, but the deeper exploration of why I find myself here, hiking and journaling. Today’s trail thought, “What is this all about?” feels particularly poignant, as if the mountains themselves are urging me to reflect on my purpose. Hiking, for me, is more than just a physical activity; it’s a chance to connect with nature, to breathe in the fresh air, and to escape the distractions of everyday life. Yet, it’s not just the trail that calls to me. I also carry a journal, a companion which prompts me to jot down notes that help me weave the threads of my experiences into a tapestry of gratitude and reflection. Today, I explored why I hike, why I journal, and how they intertwine like the roots of the trees around me.
As I ascend up the winding path, I reflect on why hiking has become such a significant part of my life. For many years, the demands of family life, with its bustling schedules and endless to-do lists, kept Kelly and I tethered to the responsibilities of parenting, our greatest joy. This left little room for spontaneous adventures. But life has a way of turning the familiar upside down and reshuffling priorities. Almost overnight, the way I manage the days of my week shifted, everything changed. My most cherished times, in the evenings and weekends, have become the most challenging. Days blurred into nights and keeping busy seems to get me by. But when the weekends roll around, they became a jarring reminder of the solitude that awaited me. I’d spend Friday afternoons grappling with that pit in my stomach, trying to devise a game plan to navigate the emptiness that loomed ahead. “I just need to make it until Monday,” I thought. The anticipation of the weekend transformed into a challenge—a maze I was reluctant to enter. That’s when I stumbled upon hiking. Unlike any other activity, it came with no shared history, no lingering memories of us tackling trails together. It was a blank canvas, untainted by the past, and a space where I could walk freely without the weight of guilt pressing down on my shoulders.
Hiking became a sanctuary, a place where I could embrace memories of Kelly without the shadows of what might have been. It was as if the trails themselves offered a gentle nudge, encouraging me to go and find peace. In the solitude of the forest, with the crunch of path beneath my boots, and the whisper of the wind through the trees, I discovered a connection to both nature and myself. Each step forward became a step into a new narrative, and my heart began to open up to memories painted with joy, vibrant and unencumbered. Kelly is always with me in spirit, her laughter echoing through the trees, her warmth in the sun’s gentle embrace. Though she doesn’t lace up boots or carry hiking gear, the trails offer a quiet place where I can celebrate her memory. Hiking has become my own personal pilgrimage—a space where I can embrace my solitude and forge a new path. Each elevation gain was not just a physical challenge but a metaphor for my journey of healing and self-discovery. I had carved out this sanctuary for myself, where I could breathe freely and find solace in nature’s embrace. And so, with every footfall, I rekindle my spirit, exploring not only the trails but also the depths of my own heart.
Traversing this trail of reflection, I find myself pondering the reasons behind my journaling. It’s not about seeking comfort or sharing tales of sorrow with others; it’s a way to navigate the intricate terrain of my emotions. Right now, the terrain is rocky, marked by the shadow of grief and loss. It’s not about overcoming these feelings but learning to walk with them. For example, tears are new for me, when they first showed up, I wasn’t really sure what to do with them; I only associated them with sadness. But now I realize some of the tears that once fell from sadness have been transforming into tears of gratitude, like that gentle rain that cleanses the sky. Each drop reminds me of my unbroken connection to Kelly, and it signals to me that she is near.
Journaling becomes my compass in this emotional wilderness, guiding me through the thickets of my thoughts and feelings. But what haunts me is the fear of forgetting what it felt like—the warmth of her laughter, the comfort of her presence. There’s no physical artifact, like a calendar or photograph, that can encapsulate these emotions. That’s where my journal steps in—recording what it “feels” like. As I reflect on earlier hikes, my journal allows me to vividly remember the weight of my heart at that time, how quickly it can fade away. Each waypoint added to my journal becomes a marker on my emotional map, a way to preserve the essence of our connection, ensuring that those feelings are not lost to the winds of time. In this way, journaling is a vital part of my journey, a way to honor our shared path even as I carve out my own.
When I combine my affinity for hiking with the art of journaling, it transforms each waypoint into a profound conversation with myself. Each one becoming a canvas where I paint the memories of a love that once filled my life with joy. I think of her laughter echoing through the trees, the warmth of her smile illuminating the darkest paths, and the comfort of her presence that still lingers in everyday reminders. Journaling allows me to capture not just the tangible details—like her favorite songs or the places we explored together—but also the emotions tied to them. It’s as if every word I write solidifies these memories in my heart, ensuring they remain vivid and accessible, even as time tries to fade them.
Staying the course has its challenges. At times I feel off track and become lost in the valley of sorrow. But through journaling, I’ve learned to influence my perspective and reconcile these feelings with gratitude. Each time I reflect on my struggles, I inevitably circle back to the love we shared and unwavering support from family and friends. This practice of gratitude empowers me to notice the beauty that still surrounds me—the sunrise peaking over the mountain, the rustle of branches in the breeze, and the dichotomy of the river, steady as a new day, yet refreshed at each moment as it flows. What’s interesting is that I’ve found myself part of a silent community—a fellowship of heartbroken souls who understand the weight of grief. We may not exchange words, but sometimes a knowing glance is enough to convey, “I get it.” This shared understanding bridges the gap of isolation, offering solace in the knowledge that others too walk this path. My stories, I hope, reach those who seek comfort, letting them know they’re not alone in this shared journey of healing and understanding.
At the end of my trek, I took a final look at the trail behind me and a sense of clarity washes over me like that gentle cascade of water down that rock wall. Today, I’ve not only hiked through the woods, I’ve traversed the intricate pathways of my own heart—a journey where the mountains have become my confidants and my journal a trusted guide. The trail, with its challenges and rewards, mirrors my path through life—a reminder that even amidst the rocks and roots, there’s beauty to be found. And so, with my boots muddy and my heart lighter, I step forward, ready to explore the unknown trails ahead, carrying with me the memories of past hikes and the wisdom they bring. The path continues.
-Ken
- Olympic National Forest, Hoodsport, WA
- 47° 30′ 6.3648″ -123° 19′ 16.6224″
- 7.9 miles | 1,198 elevation gain | ~4 hours
- 58-73 degrees and clear
Musings 