Lessons from the Dosewallips

When retreat participants canceled due to smoky air quality, I went to the Dosewallips River Trail to have a retreat with myself...and made unexpected friends along the way.

Starting a new venture is daunting at any time, but when it’s heart-based, it feels that much more vulnerable.

Dosewallips River, with smokey haze in the mountains.

So when the three folks who’d registered for Thursday’s Write-and-Hike Retreat on the Dosewallips backed out due to concerns about the air quality, as much as I understood their reasoning, my heart felt very tender.

Truth was, I too was concerned about the smoke — I could see the haze of it obscuring the mountains from our road in Chimacum, so I figured it had to be worse at higher elevation.

But the call of the Dosewallips was still humming within me, and I knew I had to heed it. Quelling my anxiety, I set forth to the trailhead.

The welcoming path of the old River Road.

The road to the Dosewallips washout is paved until the last 2 miles, at which point it becomes an almost-single-lane dirt road with a few easily-navigated potholes. While there were a number of cars at the parking lot, the path was empty as far as the eye could see…in other words, my kind of path! But what the eye did see was the haze in the distance, muting the usual deep greens of the mountains to more of a dusky seafoam.

“Well,” I thought. “It may look smokey, but I can breathe, so let’s see how it goes.”

As soon as I set foot on the trail, the first thing I noticed was how friendly the Dosewallips felt.

The spirits of the trail, radiating goodwill!

I mean, it always feels friendly, but yesterday it was positively radiating goodwill. It was impossible to be worried about anything, and soon my fears about air quality (and my retreat not having any participants) just dissipated into the ether.

The next thing I noticed was that it was quite warm, warmer than it has been of late.

I was not alone in feeling the warmth. The first sweaty group I passed was two pairs of backpackers in their retirement years.

“How far did you go?” I asked, assuming they’d say the first campground some 2 miles up.

“Oh, up to the old Ranger Station,” they said cheerily.

I was impressed! That’s a 13-mile roundtrip, and in addition to the heat and the haze, their packs did not look light.

Scout, Happy, Otherworldly and Winkle

The second group I passed on the trail were four women of retirement age who were walking at a decent clip, faces sparkling with sweat and exhilaration. As they looked so radiant — totally embodied in heart energy! — I asked if I could interview them for my blog.

They seemed delighted. And in the spirit of being on the trail, I asked if they’d like to use trail names, rather than real names.

“Oh yes!” they enthused, and then began coming up with names.

They, too, had gone all the way to the ranger station. Again, I was impressed!

“What was your favorite part of the trail?” I asked.

“We were surprised at how beautiful the river is,” said Winkle (this name took some group finessing).

“I was pleased with how much we could hear and see the river the whole time,” said one (she didn’t yet have a trail name).

“The river was our guide!” said Scout (the group picked this name for her).

“I loved the pillow basalt cliff right before the falls,” said Happy (she knew her trail name instantly). “Did you know that came from an underwater volcano, back when all of this area was under the ocean?”

“Did you know that you’re looking at almost 300 years of collective wisdom here?” joked Scout.

I noticed that the woman who didn’t yet have a trail name seemed to be paying more attention to the trees than the conversation. I asked her what her trail name would be.

“Oh!” she said after a bit. “Spacey.”

We all laughed.

“What about ‘Otherworldly’?” I suggested.

“Oh that’s a better way of saying it,” she grinned, and the group laughed again as they headed down the trail.

After this lovely encounter, I continued with a lighter step, stopping to take photos of the trees and the river, communing with the joyful energy that was radiating from every living thing on the path.

View from the washout

When I came to the washout (the only section of the trail that presents a slight bit of challenge), rather than go up the switchback-trail that goes up and around the washed out road, I chose to go down into the washout and walk right along the river.

This is a very dramatic view of the washout (along with uneven footing and downed trees), with a gravelly overhang (created by the river) looming above the bank. But it is also an enchanted glen of riverside birches with a full view of the river and mountains beyond.

In climbing up out of the washout and returning to the road, I met another hiking couple with a healthy glow of sweat about them. When I asked if I could interview them for my blog, they were initially reluctant.

As we talked, however, they began fondly recounting the many long treks they had taken in their 34 years of marriage, and I tried my best to keep up with notes.

Tom and Carla, veteran hikers of the Olympics!

“What was your favorite part of the trail?” I asked.

“Everything!” said Carla, who choose the trail name Caboose (“I’m always bringing up the rear,” she laughed.) “I was delighted I didn’t stop once when hiking up to the falls.”

Carla said she has neuropathy in her feet, which can make for an uncomfortable hike. “But I do it!” she said. “I just try to keep up with him!” she laughed, pointing to Tom (who opted out of a trail name).

Tom recounted many of the hikes they’d taken together in earlier stages of life, both on their own and with kids. They’d go for a week at a time, through various passes (Anderson, Cameron, O’Neil), camped in mountain meadows (Dose Meadows, 100 Acre Meadows), ascended and descended thousands of feet.

“We don’t do that anymore,” he said, somewhat mournfully.

“But it makes my heart still sing to be able to identify all the mountain flowers,” said Carla. “Even though it’s past flower season, there were still pearly everlastings and fireweed up there.”

They both also recounted a favorite gift from one of their daughters to Tom: a collaged map of the Olympics, with lines drawn on every trail they’d hiked together and the inscription: All my favorite mountains are the ones I hiked with you.

“We’ll send to you when we get home,” promised Carla.

Carla kindly sent me a photo of the collage her daughter made for Tom.

The rest of the walk was equally beautiful and smooth, and before I knew it, I was at the first campground. I scoped out some ideal places for future group writing purposes, and then I went down to the river.

Dosewallips River and the hazy mountains beyond

The late afternoon light was sifting through haze in the distant mountains, and the river was a steady burble as it played over the rocks and pools. It was pleasantly warm, there were some good sitting rocks, and there was a faint breeze over the water.

It was so peaceful, I decided to stay for a bit.

While I was soaking my feet in the cold of the river, I pondered the feeling of goodwill that emanated from everything around me.

“This is Maitri,” I realized. “This is what unconditional acceptance feels like.”

As I sat with this concept, looking at the smokey mountains, a kind of grace washed over me. I felt the unconditional friendliness of the mountains, the river, and the woods…

…and then, I felt something quite unexpected.

As I’d been sitting there, the smoke had begun to make its presence known. Slowly wafting down from the mountains, I could smell it now. But I did not feel bothered by it, for — like everything else around me — it was radiating love.

I didn’t understand it, but the anxiety I’d felt about the smoke had been replaced with a new feeling, one of communing with an old and dear friend.

“Is this what it means to make friends with the things that scare us?” I wondered. “Is this the result of doing Tonglen?”

The smoke didn’t answer. It just kept on hazily radiating love.

View heading back down to the trailhead

So, many wonderful things came of this day of retreat with my Self.

And in addition to goodwill, grace and newfound friendship (of human and non-human varieties), there were also new and wonderful ideas for the next Dosewallips Elders’ Retreat on September 14th and the Women’s Retreat on the 20th! I won’t spoil the surprise by revealing them here, but suffice to say they will be both playful and deep — just like the river herself.

The Dosewallips and I hope to see you there!

And if Smokey wants to be there too, it is okay, for now we are the oldest of friends.