Leif Nesheim

Bright red berries adorn bushes as the North Tidal Area Trail opens onto the estuary at Dosewallips State Park.

I’ve been given the medical OK to start hiking again on short, easy trails to build up strength in my injured knee. As I recently was driving the Hood Canal to visit family in Sequim, I decided to explore an easy hike along the way back. Poor weather conditions of sleet and snow kept me to the beaches; I didn’t want to get snowed in on a remote gravel road.

I decided to visit a site that came up in a conversation with another hiker, who’d recently mentioned it as a neat place to see along the Hood Canal. Like him, I’d never noticed it on my numerous trips up and down the canal.
The state Fish and Wildlife Shellfish Program has planted oysters, clams and geoducks on public beaches around Point Whitney, north of Brinnon.
It’s not really designed for hiking, but there are several hundred yards of good beach and a pleasant picnic area with clean rest rooms worth a quick leg-stretch and stop. Plus, it might make for some good shellfishing.
When my dog Dodge and I stopped, snow was just beginning to fall. It whipped at a steep angle in from the water as a freezing wind blasted across the canal. The snow obscured the land across the narrow channel and a very high tide covered the beach. The only walking on this day was to the end of the parking lot near the mouth of the lagoon and back.
I knew I should stick to short hikes, but this was ridiculous. I went to Plan B.
I drove a little farther south to Dosewallips State Park. On my last visit, I’d hiked the upland trails. This time, I wanted to hike the beach trail. At the main parking area on the park’s west side, on the south end of the bridge across the river, is a large parking area with public restrooms.
There is no direct access from here to the beach trail, but a short quarter-mile hike through the pleasant picnic area across the bridge brings you to a less-developed parking area on the river’s north bank.
From here, the wide gravel trail — I think it follows an old dike or something — leads through some underbrush before opening up onto the estuary.

A herd of elk bedded down less than 100 feet from the trail on the far side of an estuary slough. The herd’s matriarch, wearing a radio collar, stood on my side of the slough and eyed me and Dodge warily as we passed.

Elk are big up close. I imagine they can do a lot of damage. It’s a little-known fact that more people are injured and killed by herbivores in national parks than by carnivores. Dodge didn’t know what to make of the elk. I’m glad he was on a leash in case he decided they would have been good to chase. As it was, he danced and yodeled under his breath.
The wind whipped from the north, blowing the musky scent of the herd across the trail. I figured if I could smell them, the dog was in olfactory overload.
We climbed up the nearby observation tower for an overview of the estuary before hiking the trail to the river’s mouth.
In places, the water completely covered the trail knee-deep, thanks partly to the high tide. As I was wearing my usual shorts and sandals, it was no problem to cross. It was a tad bit chilly, though. However, the wind at the river’s mouth was colder on the ears.
I took a moment to scan the canal, noting fencing in the water around the river’s mouth that I later learned was to keep seals out. Sea gulls squatted on the fencing. An eagle perched on a pylon across the river. Dodge sniffed an abundance of oyster shells scattered on the beach.
When we returned, the herd had crossed the slough and stood on the trail blocking our exit. We climbed the observation tower to get a better view and wait them out, but they weren’t budging. The elk finally moved away as soon as we approached.

Leif Nesheim is hiking columnist and a former reporter for the Sequim Gazette. He is editor at the Montesano Vidette. He can be reached at editor@thevidette.com.