Pulling my feet out of snow melt cold PJ Lake, I unzipped the legs from my convertible pants, to dry my toes a bit before putting my shoes back on. Rummaging around, I noticed – or rather, didn’t notice – my keys weren’t there.
I panicked, but, being phlegmatic soul in the face of emergency, I calmly announced, “Um, I don’t think I have the keys to the car.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have the keys to the car?” Cheryl asked. She didn’t seem all that bothered, either.
“Well, I usually put them in my pants pocket; they’re not there. And not in my fanny pack, or any other pockets. And not on the ground where we were sitting.”
Cheryl looked again in my pack, and all through her back pack. We forget momentarily the little rugged basin we’d hiked down into off of Obstruction Point Road in the Olympic Mountains. Instead of going all the way to the end of the wash boarded gravel track in my deceptively rugged all wheel drive sports car, we’d stopped after 4 miles at the “PJ Lake 0.9 mi” sign, where a blue Honda CRZ was parked in the shade.
“Want to go here?”
We’d planned on a 6-8 mile round trip hike to Glacier and Moose lakes, but this seemed to offer an easier start to the afternoon; we might even be able to work in a little picnic at Hurricane Ridge, and another hike out along the view trails there.
“Sure.”
The route started easily enough, though filled with black flies and a few stray skeeters, through thin fir trees widely spaced, but shading us from the harsh mountain sun. Soon, though, the route dropped precipitously, not unlike the fall off into a double black diamond ski run. Looking ahead and down, no flat areas hiding a lake could be seen, al the way down – 5000’ down – north the the Strait. We could hear gurgling and rushing sounds from an unseen water course. I became suspicious that PJ Lake was actually more of a swamp than a mountain gem.
“This is worse going down than coming back up,” I offered. Indeed, the route was so steep, not only did we have to lean heavily on our hiking sticks, but I even worried that toenails might be lost from the pressure on the front of my boots. And the dry, crumbly soil detaching from rocks and roots, combined with the small shale-like pebbles, didn’t help provide a sense of sure footing.
Cheryl was moving even more slowly than I was. After about 35 minutes, we reached what appeared to be the bottom of the trail. No lake, but a small babbling stream, the noise coming from a 2 inch wide tube of water sluicing over a branch.
The route started back up hill, aiming towards a ridge line a few hundred feet above us – we must have come down a thousand already. Around a bend or two, I hit a wondrous view – a full-fledged 10 foot wide, 75 foot high water fall, cascading over moss covered rock walls, separating into discrete streams and overpowering us with mist and noise.
“This must be the outfall from the lake, up there over that ridge,” I pointed. Invigorated, we pressed upwards, and topped out into a narrow, deep basin, catching a 2-3 acre lake. At the far end, high up near the col, a snow field fed a steeply dropping stream. A couple, presumably from the Honda, were lunching on a rock, taking in the scene and finishing up a small bottle of wine.
We said hi, then discreetly wound around a hillock of trees to a secluded spot, and rested in the half-shade, half-sun. Five minutes later, we walked back toward the open spot just as the couple was leaving. After brief goodbyes, we took turns soaking our feet in the freezing cold water, direct from snow melt, it seemed.
It had taken us nearly an hour to get down to the lake, a mere mile from the car. Cheryl suggested I tramp on ahead, quickly, hoping to catch the Honda folks before they left in their car. This was easy; moving quickly without tiring is what I do for a living. Though they had a 15 minute had start on us, I caught up a bit more than half way up the slope. They were huffing and puffing, and, while I had started a sheen of sweat, I couldn’t really sense my breathing. I pushed on past, letting Cheryl give them the gory details while I tried my luck at finding the keys in the car.
No luck, didn’t see them. But I was pretty sure they were there. Reviewing my actions just after stopping the car (my mother, when we’d lose something, always made us go over step by step just what we did before we realised something was gone.) I had put the keys in my right hand, apparently, as they were not in the ignition lock. Then,, bothered by a flurry of bees and black flies, I’d gone to the back to get my fanny pack ready for service.
While searching for the keys at the lake, I notice my wallet in the pack. This was odd, since I remembered that I had taken my license and Visa, along with $40 out of the wallet and put them in my pants cargo pocket – standard practice for me when out and about most anywhere. And yet, there was my wallet, just where my keys should have been. My poor brains must have reversed the actions, and left the keys behind in the trunk while keeping the wallet.
Ah well, we reviewed scenarios with the couple from the Honda. We tried cell service – none up there. They seemed to be locals – retired RNs from the city, now living between Sequim and Port Angeles, just at the base of the 17 mile drive up here to Hurricane Ridge. They advised going to the lodge at the Ridge. No phone there, but the ranger could radio for assistance from a “Law Enforcement Officer”.
Which we did. An hour later, Officer Higbee shows up in his Park Service white and green Explorer and his Smokey Bear hat. We drive back down to the car, while he asks, “OK, what is your back-up plan if we can’t get into the car, or if the keys aren’t there?”
I of course had been furiously processing scenarios all this time, and all of them involved very complicated schemes to get someone to deliver a key to us. But Cheryl had the wisest answer, “We’ll probably just stay in a motel in town, then get our daughter to drive here with the extra key.
Sweet Cheryl – she was talking the blame for this fiasco, when all of the actions were mine. “If I didn’t trust you so completely, I would have asked you about the key, but it never crossed my mind that you wouldn’t have it together – you always have it together.” Which is the sweet part, because of course I make just as many stupid human errors as anyone else. What’s different about me is that I cover them up better than most, and I always have an optimistic outlook on the situation, or make it seem like I had all the planning bases covered.
Which I kind of did. I mean, the day was warm and sunny, no hint of rain, but I had brought a watch cap and light gloves, along with wind/rain jacket, just in case we might get stranded somewhere by a hiking accident. And tons of water in my CamelBack. And a huge zip-lock bag of nuts, raisins, and berries. And hiking sticks, and sun tan lotion, and, and … we just weren’t prepared for losing keys. Since we were taking the old sports car, the one with all wheel drive, we lacked our usual routine of asking each other if we each had keys. And with our other two cars being Priuses, it’s basically impossible to lock yourself out of the car – leave the keys in them, an the door stays open. Of course, the risk is, a thief can then drive the car away, but it was not something we worried about a lot.
So after another 4 mile washboard dusty drive out Obstruction Point Rd, Officer Higbee pulls out the Big Easy. WHich is basically a long metal hook. TUrns out my car has easy access through the front window. just slip a blood pressure cuff-type thing between the window edge and the rubber beneath it, pump up the bladder, slip the rod horizontally forward toward the door handle, press it forward, and – Voila – the emergency signal starts blasting away! At least the door is open. I race to the driver side and check the seat and floor for keys, opening the trunk latch at the same time. Cheryl looks back there, finds the keys, and I whip them into the door lock, which turns the alarm off.
And we still have two hours left for our scenic trek along the Hurricane Hill trail, which features never-ending views of the Swiss Alps type scenery of the Olympics, except in Switzerland, you can’t see the Pacific Ocean peaking off to the west, and the Strait of Juan de Fuca down to the North.
Maybe next time we have a day off, we;’ll plant a garden.