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Somewhere on I-5, watching the suburbs of Tacoma give way to actual trees, it occurred to me that we’d been talking about this trip for four years. Olympic National Park- rainforests, glacial lakes, wild coastline, mountains- had been sitting on the list through a move, a pandemic, and two years of proving we could do national park travel with a kid (and still enjoy it!). In the summer of 2024 we went.

Landing at SeaTac, we picked up our rental car and, being ravenous, set about finding lunch and food for the trails. Chili Thai and Safeway in Tacoma did their part. With full bellies and the promise of future pb+j trail sandwiches, we merged onto my least favorite highway in the entire US system, I-5.

Watching civilization fade into the rearview as we made our way to the Kalaloch Lodge was a fresh breath of damp, green air. Keys to the cabin secured, we caught sunset and promptly fell asleep.

We started our day at 6 a.m. — still running on east coast time, which for once worked in our favor. La Colombe in the cup holder, we drove toward the Hoh Rainforest in the early quiet.

The Hall of Mosses and the Hoh River Trail delivered everything the photos promise and then some; infinite shades of green, mist sitting low in the canopy, and approximately one thousand species of moss existing in complete indifference to us. We had underestimated the bugs. Significantly.

On the way out we passed what had to be miles of cars queued at the entrance station and felt quietly smug about our timing. We finished the day at Ruby Beach, clambering over driftwood, watching the sea stacks emerge from the haze, and throwing what appeared to be an unlimited supply of rocks back into the ocean.

As the morning opened and we strolled from our cabin to the lodge for breakfast, the slugs on the flowers acted as the welcoming committee. After filling up on pancakes, we struck out for an early, fog-laden visit to the Tree of Life — a massive tree that has somehow survived with its roots fully exposed, suspended between two eroded bluffs above the beach, leaving just enough space to walk underneath and through the root system. The beach did its part too: fascinating driftwood, more rocks to throw in the ocean. But the tree was the thing. We wandered around it, under it, through it, took photos, and continued on our journey.

The way to Rialto Beach leads through Forks, which you may know famously from Twilight — and when in Rome — the chamber of commerce is filled with fans, wall to wall memorabilia, and an ungodly amount of Twilight conversation. A few snaps of Bella’s pickup, a selfie with Jacob’s cardboard likeness (Team Jacob all the way!), a brief bathroom stop, and we were back on our way to Rialto Beach.

Finding one of the last spots at Rialto, we got out and were immediately hit with thick salt air and an overcast sky. Walking toward the beach, we picked our way through massive stacks of driftwood to get down to the dark sand and began the trek to Hole in the Wall along the beach with a number of other families and hikers.

Finally making it to the tidepools, we stopped to eat our pb+j and take some photos. The child started back while I moved across the pools to get the quintessential Hole in the Wall shot. Fortunately, the weather had cleared up, sun lifting the haze.

Driving back through Forks, we stopped at Sully’s for a late afternoon reward of a cheeseburger and made it back to the lodge.

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Not wanting to leave the peninsula without visiting a second rainforest, we headed south to the Quinault region for the day. The visitors center was closed when we arrived, so we pieced together a route from the trailhead signage — a loop through the forest and back along the lake.

It was immediately different from the Hoh. Denser moss, lower traffic, flowers we hadn’t seen before. We had the trail entirely to ourselves.

Halfway through, the cedar hit us. Work crews were clearing old growth trees for campground renovations nearby, and the smell was extraordinary — stronger than a new sauna, more intense than any cedar I’ve encountered before or since. We sat at a picnic table on the lake and ate sandwiches and pretzels that tasted like cedar. The forest had gotten into the food and we didn’t mind.

We looped back along the lake, poked through the Lodge and general store, and made the drive back to Kalaloch — one last night in the cabin, one last load of laundry in the Scrubba before we packed up for Sol Duc Falls and Lake Crescent in the morning.

On the drive out we passed Sol Duc Hot Springs and briefly entertained the idea of a detour. We kept moving. Parking in the shade, we donned our packs and found the trailhead at the end of the lot.

The trail descended on wide, well-maintained dirt stairs with old growth trees towering on both sides. We crossed a few bridges, stopping at one where small rivulets and mini falls cascaded through the rocks below while the child used the occasion to negotiate a snack. A short while later the main falls opened up ahead — a three-pronged fork of water dropping beneath the viewing platform, the sun breaking through the canopy and throwing rainbows into the spray. Under two miles, nobody complained, everyone got what they came for. The hot springs would have been fine. This was better.

The weather that morning made it genuinely hard to be indoors. Sunshine, a light breeze, mountains in every direction — Lake Crescent had clearly saved its best day for us. We spent the day on — and in — the lake, undeterred by the lack of proper swimwear, before setting out on the paved trail toward Devil’s Punchbowl.

At the fork we faced a choice: a large dark tunnel of unknown destination, or the unpaved trail around it. We took the trail. Some decisions make themselves.

The footing got tricky as we worked our way down to the bridge at Devil’s Punchbowl, where a group of young men were doing exactly what young men do near bodies of water and cliffs. We waited them out, grabbed the composition, crossed the bridge, found the tunnel exit on the far side, and took it back. It turned out to be a perfectly reasonable tunnel. We probably could have just taken it both ways. We did not discuss this.

After our walk we stopped in at Granny’s for a cheeseburger and ice cream, the old-time grill serving straight Americana, and headed back to the lake for one last stroll on the shore before watching the sunset.

Not wanting to leave Lake Crescent just yet, we got an early start on the Marymere Falls trail — a wide, unhurried walk through old growth forest, the kind where you stop halfway up a western red cedar just to try to find where the trunk ends and the canopy begins. We stopped for a family photo in front of one that had no business being that wide — the child stood at the base and it dwarfed him completely, a brontosaurus leg in bark and moss. The lazy walk turned serious when we had to climb to the viewpoints for the falls, a tight traversal with a camera, tripod, and child in tow.

After enjoying the giant cedar and hemlock trees and waterfall, we headed back to our packed car, checked out, and headed toward our Airbnb on the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Road construction and traffic quickly eroded the joy from the trail, and finding our lodging at the end of a winding drive was a welcome relief. In a stroke of luck, the Airbnb was well stocked with toys and books, which the child immediately dove into while the parents set about making a gin and tonic and watching the sun set over the strait on the back deck — plotting the final big adventure of the trip: Hurricane Ridge.

We woke up early and ate breakfast — Tillamook yogurt, granola bars, and Tim’s cascade potato chips (iykyk). We had been building the child’s endurance the entire trip for the anticipated 6–7 mile ridge hike. After a brief stop at the Visitor Center, we headed up Hurricane Ridge Road and found one of the last parking spots in the lot.

Stepping out of the car, the Olympic Range stretched out in every direction. Backpacks brimming with water, camera gear, snacks, and toy cars, we set out into one of the best effort-to-reward hikes I’ve ever taken.

Frequent stops to admire the mountains and valleys, a slight detour scrambling down an area that was clearly not the trail after missing a turn, and playing cars while eating M&Ms in the alpine meadows and overlooks made for a very memorable day. We turned back at the 3-mile mark, not wanting to press our luck with the child who had done amazingly. Six miles later, covered in dirt and exhausted, he passed out in the car seat before we’d cleared the parking lot.

We’d earned a slow day. Port Angeles delivered brunch at the New Day Eatery, which was excellent and required zero planning beyond walking through the door. The afternoon took us to Port Townsend — Victorian storefronts, tall sailing ships in the harbor, a coffee shop called Better Living Through Coffee that lives up to its name. The kid found a toy shop and executed a negotiation for yet another toy car that I’m still impressed by. Dinner at Nikko’s Grotto, slow drive back along the strait in the fading light, early to bed.

Even being mostly packed the night before, the morning was still a scramble. Tight window from Port Angeles to SeaTac — rental return, security, boarding. What should have fit comfortably became increasingly worrisome as we sat on I-5 in traffic. Making it to the rental return about an hour before our flight, we dashed through security, grabbed something forgettable, and found the terminal with five minutes to spare.

On the plane, we collapsed. Seattle and the water below — white and clean and indifferent to our departure. Then the clouds closed back up and that was that.

Getting to Olympic requires a decision. It doesn’t happen on the way to somewhere else. Four ecosystems in one park — rainforest, coast, alpine meadows, glacial lakes — means four separate drives, four different weathers, four versions of the same park in a single week. Plan for all of them to be different than you expected. Bella, Jacob, and Edward will welcome you.