Our current site affords us very little sunshine and even with 400 watts of solar panels, our battery just doesn't get up to full each evening, so we take a turn about the campground in search of a sunnier spot.
We try three different locations until we settle on a small pull-through site that gets full sun for a few hours in the afternoon.
I go back down to the Sol Duc river to check out some tracks I saw the other day.
Raccoons have left their delicate hand prints all along the soft banks, undoubtably while looking for crawfish. There are larger, more concerning prints just down river.
Mountain lion tracks, as big as my hand to the first knuckle, are pressed deeply into the sand.
The differences between dog and mountain lion tracks are subtle. With dog tracks, there will be an indentation at the tip of each pad where the nail is. The big cats leave no nail mark. Also there is a slight dip at the top of the heel pad which would be rounded on a dog track.
With a new appreciation for just how "outdoors" we are, I climb the steep hill back to camp wondering if something is crouching in the ferns, sizing up my dinner potential.
By Friday evening, the campground is absolutely swamped with people, most under the age of 15. There are three sites connected by paths that are occupied by a church junior-high group, around 25 kids in all, and a handful of adults.
I am amazed that these kids can have so many important things to say to each other, the level of importance being denoted by the volume at which they say them. Many valuable nuggets of information are transmitted, from morning till well after midnight, each day, for the whole weekend.
Hubs and I contemplate practicing Mongolian throat singing every morning at dawn, but the kids aren't getting drunk or being foul-mouthed or smoking, making them above-average neighbors in our experience.
On Sunday morning we drive to Forks, put two loads of laundry in at the laundromat, and attend a small church down the road. Returning to dry our wet clothes, we do our grocery shopping across the street, come back to fold our laundry, and go home.
Forks is a town that appears to have sold its soul for a whiff of fame. If you do not know what it is famous for, you will quickly find out upon entering. Forks is the locale for the Twilight teen romance novels and movies, and no store front will let you forget it. Native Twilight, Dazzled by Twilight, Twilight Tours, and a road-side stand selling chopped wood with a sign saying "Twilight Firewood"! Ha! I suspect that last one is some old codger mountain man poking fun at the movies that overran his town with thirteen year old girls.
The whole campground is deserted by the time we get back to the Airstream. We are the only people here, and aside from the logging trucks rushing about on HWY 101, our world is peaceful again.
Now to practice some throat singing.