I’m on the western end of Lake Quinault, Washington. Standing on the edge of the roadway, I’m separated from the lake by a large swath of trees and bushes that grows on the incline down to the beach. The water is still and clear, reflecting the hills in the national forest that surround it. Fresh snow, which fell on the mountains in Olympic National Park the night before, is stark white and stands out in the distance.
The Olympic Peninsula is a place of conflicting interests amid stunning natural beauty. I’m with a log truck driver, who works the long stretch of road between Hoquiam and Lake Quinault. He’s agreed to show me this area of Washington, much of which is considered old-growth or rainforest.
It’s an area thick with vegetation, a diverse mix of cedar, hemlock and other trees that can withstand the 12 feet of rain that fall here every year. Some of the land is owned by papermill and logging companies, and I find it surprising that it isn’t just clear cut. Rather, the companies clear out trees that are dying or have died from natural causes. Then they replant the trees in what appears to be Christmas-tree farm fashion.
