Save Some For Later
If I’m traveling somewhere I am nearly certain I will never visit again, I’ll pack every square inch of my days with scenic views and new experiences. If at all possible, I leave no sight unseen.
But, if I even half believe I might return one day…
I dreamed about visiting the Olympic Peninsula ever since I joined Team Edward in high school. During the course of those five movies, I fell in love with forest floors carpeted with moss and sprawling ferns, enormous trees obscured by dense fog, rare beams of sunlight peeking through the clouds… and all of it darkened by a slightly blue filter.
My list of places I wanted to see in and around Olympic National Park was a mile long. I had saved dozens of Instagram photos and bookmarked a handful of hikes. There was no way I could have fit it all into a single trip… and that’s just the way I like it. You see, I almost fear seeing every single thing I want to see because if I see it all, then what?
It wasn’t until March of 2021 that I finally made it to that part of Washington. I went to Lake Crescent. I hiked trails in the Hoh Rainforest. I nearly froze at Rialto Beach. The sun came out as I strolled the shoreline at Ruby Beach. I found the Tree of Life at Kalaloch and grieved its slow, inevitable descent. I drove to a couple of gorgeous spots around Lake Quinault. It was every bit as moody and magical as I imagined it would be. And I didn’t see even half of the places I had in mind.
Traveling can easily become an exercise in project management. We make a list of all the things we want to do, restaurants to try, photo ops to capture. We endeavor to cross every item off a self-created list so that we can mark the location as complete. We feel pressure to optimize every hour. I believe this takes the absolute soul out of the experience.
I would rather see less and feel more.
After that first trip to Olympic, I still had yet to visit dozens of places I had dreamed about. Since then, I’ve gone back five or six times across all four seasons. The Olympic Peninsula now feels like a familiar friend I get to stay with once or twice a year. Each time, I cherish visiting my favorite spots again and again, and I also find new views, new trails, new places to love.
And still, for reasons I can’t explain, in all my subsequent trips- I never made time to go to Marymere Falls.
Marymere Falls is one of Olympic National Park’s most well-known and famous trails. It’s less than two miles round trip, easy except for a fairly steep segment at the end, and the trail ends at a gorgeous 90 ft. waterfall. It’s the kind of place that’s easy to squeeze in between other activities. There was no reason for me not to do the hike, see the falls, and cross it off my list during one of my visits. But, for some reason, I didn’t. I would always say next time, but next time would come, and I still would not find time to go.
Until this past February.
It was a Friday morning. I was armed with my usual four shots of espresso over ice and I was heading toward Lake Crescent. In all my visits to this area, I had never seen so much snow. Every tree branch was covered in pristine snow. The roofs of every lake house were entirely white. A layer of fog hung in the air above the corner between Lake Sutherland and Lake Crescent. I’d been in this spot dozens of times, but I had never seen these specific conditions before. Suddenly, without hesitation, I knew it was the exact right time to venture to Marymere Falls.
There were only five or six other cars at the trailhead. I bundled up, grabbed my camera bag, and followed the trail toward the falls. Snow lightly blanketed the forest floor wherever there was a break in the trees. Everything was quiet. Green. White. Cold.
When I arrived at the waterfall viewpoint, I was the only person there. Nothing fires my soul up more than getting a few minutes to myself in a world-famous scenic spot. I snapped a few photos and allowed the magic of the moment to soak in.
After a few minutes, a man came up the trail behind me and stood off to the side, also admiring the view. I said something like, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He agreed and asked if I could do him a favor. He explained he was part of a local Buddhist group and was there to film a prayer for their next meeting. He asked if I wouldn’t mind filming while he recited the prayer. Of course, I agreed.
He took a small golden Buddha and a piece of fabric out of his bag. After setting both up on the railing with Marymere Falls as a backdrop, he handed me his phone, and I hit record.
Afterward, he thanked me, and I turned to make my way to the higher viewpoint. When I got there, I looked down and the man was still standing at the railing. I couldn’t hear what he was saying and I didn’t need to. I assume it was another prayer, but it wasn’t meant for my ears. He had palo santo or something in his hand, tracing loops in the air around the Buddha, leaving behind a sweet-smelling smoke. The scent drifted my way and grounded me in this special, sacred moment.
On the trek back to my car, I thought about timing.
If I had done this hike in June, I never would have had a few minutes all to myself.
If I had come in the fall or spring, I wouldn’t have seen the beauty of a trail lined in snow and a waterfall coated in a thin layer of ice.
If I had come even a day before or after, I would not have met the Buddhist man, nor had the honor of recording his display of faith.
If I had done the Marymere Falls hike at any other time before, it wouldn’t have been this exact, memorable experience.
For years, I had put this place off. Because I saved it for later, because I didn’t rush to just cross it off my list, because I waited until the moment was right, I didn’t just see Marymere Falls.
I really felt it.
Wishing you the best,
Rachel
