Elizabeth and I woke up sore this morning. Our last three days of hiking had taken their toll and we were ready for an easy day. We planned to meet my brother David in Port Angeles and then drive up to Hurricane Ridge for a short hike. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you won’t be surprised to find out that our hike stretched to 5 hours, but it was worth it, really! Read on.
We met David and drove up Hurricane Ridge Road, climbing from sea level to mile-high. The morning’s low overcast broke to reveal a beautiful blue sky. Dark green valleys, miles long and thousands of feet deep, rose to meet light green meadows and countless black and white peaks.
The sunny sky and cool breeze made us eager to get on the trail. We picked the High Ridge Trail and set off through meadows and scattered groves of subalpine fir (Abies lasiocarpa) and Nootka cypress (Callitropsis nootkatensis). To our left were Port Angeles and the Strait of Juan de Fuca; to our right, the Olympic Mountains.
We took a break on a high point of the ridge and scanned our surroundings with Elizabeth’s binoculars. On the slopes of Mount Angeles, just a mile away, David spotted a bear and its cub! We took turns watching the two until they walked behind some trees, and then got back to walking.
Ahead of us, a pair of hikers stood looking downhill. I looked downhill, too, but didn’t see anything interesting. When I got closer I asked them what they were looking at. One of them pointed it out to us: a bear in a berry patch, right below the trail!
We watched the bear while he ate. Elizabeth got out her binoculars and I got out my camera. The bear was content and carefree.
Then he notices us. He stops eating and looks uphill. I suddenly become aware of his size and proximity. Fortunately, we made him more nervous than he made us, and he bolted into the trees.
We hiked on, but found ourselves scanning the meadows and shadows with a wariness that we didn’t have before seeing the bear.
A big snowfield covering part of the trail was turning back hikers, but it seemed as if we could get down it without too much trouble. We had to boot-ski down its steeper parts, but we got across it in a few minutes, and found ourselves in a pretty forest whose floor was lined with yellow lilies (Erythronium sp.)
As we were contemplating calling it a day and heading back to the car, we talked to some hikers who said they’d seen lots of mountain goats on Klahhane Ridge. The ridge was a thousand feet above us on the Switchback Trail, but the possibility of seeing wild goats was too appealing to resist. So much for our easy hike.
We climbed up the ridge, but agreed that we’d turn around once we’d gotten a good view of a goat.
Halfway up the trail, we spotted it: a lone goat (Oreamnos americanus) on the slopes of Mount Angeles, bleating and hopping over rocks so steep I wouldn’t get near them without a rope and harness. I joked about going back, but everyone felt good and wanted to keep going.
We freeze when we hear a crashing, thundering sound coming from uphill. I glance around, but can’t see anything through the trees. Then, without warning, a half-dozen goats come barreling out of the woods in a cloud of dust and stop right in front of us.
The goats were all nannies and kids. The adults looked at us, then started grazing on the meadow. The kids did the same thing. Maybe they’d wanted to surprise us, and, having accomplished that, decided to return to their business of eating the meadow.
The kid we’d seen on Mount Angeles ran right by us to join the group.
A billy came down from the ridge, walking down the steep slope gracefully despite his bulk. He was huge and incredibly muscular. He stopped uphill of us and stared at us aggressively. He was a goat on steroids.[1]
We needed no discussion to unanimously decide to turn around. We lost sight of the billy behind a grove of trees, but when the trail switched back, he reappeared, having silently descended the hillside. Again, he was motionless and staring at us.
We continued downhill and got away from the goats after a few minutes. The sun got low in the sky as we hiked back. Its slanted light cast deep shadows across the valleys and lit the firs from behind in a way that made them seem to glow from within.
The woods around the visitor center were full of activity. Tourists walked by talking and taking photos. Hares hopped across the trail and deer grazed within arm’s reach.
We’d seen more wildlife on today’s short, crowded hike than we had on our three long, remote hikes combined.
Done with our hike, David, Elizabeth, and I drove back to Port Angeles for dinner. We ate at Thai Peppers, the great little place Elizabeth and I had found after our Ozette hike.
[1] Three months after this hike, a goat gored and killed a hiker on this same trail. I’m almost certain it was this one. Rangers later shot and killed the billy.
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