When our sons were growing up, they enjoyed reading the Arthurian Legends, imagining adventures in the deep woods. They rode their bikes down to a ravine near Old Town, lugging ropes and hand-made walking sticks. Sometimes they would remember to bring lunch, and on those fortuitous days, they'd spend all day living out their fantasies blazing trails through the forest.
Our son Taraz (Taraz'ullah Arthur) joined us on another camping trip this last weekend. (Yes, we thought camping was over for the season. But sunshine - and survivable temps of 34 degrees at night - were in our favor.) We picked him up at his home in Olympia, and drove over to the Dosewallips State Park, where we set up camp.The Dosewallips River opens up into a fantastically rich delta, a habitat that supports abundant marine life. We hunkered down in the canoe and explored the delta for several hours.
Our 'put-in point' was a little stream that empties into the Dosewallips, a meandering, enchanting little water course that offers protection to salmon when the weather and tides are rough. It was quite shallow, circuitous, and had luxurious trees covered with lichen and moss.
About midway a huge log blocked our route, and we had to portage the canoe across it. Fortunately, the shoreline along here offered a stable foothold, where disembarking was possible. We climbed onto the old log, and Sir Arthur and George pulled the canoe over. We were relieved that we could continue on downstream.
This photo shows the delta at high tide. This sand-spit has become an island. Later, the next day, we were able to walk to this area. Canoeing this area was delightful because we were able to watch hundreds of seals and sea lions basking on a nearby sand-spit. When they saw us approaching, they went crashing into the water, sending huge currents roiling under the surface of the water. To exit the channel, they swam right past us, startling about 60 mallards and shorebirds that flew up into the sky. It was spectacular. 
We finished our paddle late in the day, with just a few hours remaining until sunset.I cooked hamburgers for dinner Saturday night - it was too dark to do any filming, even with the video camera. Most of the camp-tending was done in the dark. While George and Taraz chatted around the fire, I served a home-made fish chowder out of a thermos while the burgers were cooking. I've learned that it is necessary to have instantly available hot food right after a canoe paddle when the weather is brisk or cold. Otherwise, waiting for dinner to cook turns out to be an ordeal and it is consumed too quickly. Appetizers take the hard edge off hunger.
This was a portion of our lunch - roast turkey and broccoli slaw in a hogie bun, and a fresh fruit compote with lime-honey pudding I made the day before. I served a pea salad and a carrot raisen salad also.
This was a potato hash I served for breakfast - after brimming bowls of oatmeal. We'd roasted the potatoes and brats in the fire the night before, so I only had to chop the onion and green pepper. I fried up four eggs to go with this hash, so by the time breakfast was finished we were fueled up for some major hiking on Sunday.
The Dosewallips State Park offers numerous hiking trails of various lengths, all of them through majestic deep woods. As George and I led the way, our Sir Arthur looked for old deadwood ready to topple over. (I shan't say what our young adventurer did to those trees, but I'll say that they are no longer conspicuous eyesores aslant in the sunlight.) 
He found this old tree, with the roots exposed. We took several long hikes, one on Saturday and the other on Sunday. 
As we approached the trail-head, Taraz noticed this unusual tree. While George and I focused mainly on hiking the trail, Taraz was interactive, sliding downhill on slippery leaves, jumping over dead-fall. He was consumed with spontaneity, a levity of spirit that comes from exploring the forest.The only Arthurian legend associated with the Dannells, is that we ended our exploring of water and forests by racing to beat the clock - that is, Sir Arthur's time-clock. He was due to be back to work around 4:00 on Sunday, so we ate left-overs in the car, fueling up with tomato soup in a thermos, sandwiches, and an espresso in Hoodsport. We stashed fruit-leather wrappers, espresso cups and sandwich bags under the seat of the car.
In his rush to get Taraz back to work, George had to settle for less than perfect packing. The down comforters and blankets were hastily placed in bags, without the air compressed out, and there was just a general hodge-podge of dirt-riddled containers and dirty laundry. Taraz traveled wedged among pots and pans, and griddles still dark with campfire soot.
Careening to a sudden stop in front of the 'One Heart Cafe', Sir Arthur opened the van's side-door. Our young hero, who had vanquished spirits of the forest, pried himself loose. An old hiking boot dropped out, followed by the lid of the crock pot. It rattled and hummed as it settled onto the pavement, as if offering applause. Reaching inside, Taraz pulled out his new walking stick, thanks to an industrious beaver. It was a huge water-logged thing, with tidal scum and fungal routes laced thither and yon. He raised it triumphantly, and headed into the 'One Heart Cafe'.
