11.11.04 As the overture for our journey, Nate purchased three lush sequoia trees from a nursery in Olympia so we could plant them somewhere out on the peninsula during our travels. It was a bit like participating in a bizarre kidnapping by the time we stuffed the trees in opaque black trash bags and closed them securely into the trunk. The woman that helped us load the car at the nursery was great.

Later that afternoon we stopped at a fish hatchery on the peninsula for a look-see and a decadent picnic. We enjoyed some Roaring 40s blue cheese, smoked oysters, fig and almond paste and other delicious treats.

At Lake Quinault, Washington.

I've really taken to stacking rocks whenever I have the chance. As the sun sunk gently behind Lake Quinault, I engineered a smallish stack while concomittantly keeping watch for an enormous fish that would occasionally break the mirror-like surface of the water. Huge docile ripples of water in the shape of the past represented the sole body of evidence marking the mighty fish's substantial passage.

The mist and the fading early winter light made for a mysterious sunset.

Not long after sunset while driving along the remote peninsula road in utter darkness, we happened upon a group of four enormous fires - pyres for stumps and limbs that had been left behind after recent clear-cutting. The fires were much like volcanoes: red hot in the interior, cool on the rim. We stood on the slope of one of the fiery mounds and became part of the spectacle that is a fire - interacting with the flame, the embers, the rushing air, the heat and the light. That IS what pyros do on holiday, after all.

Nate was able to create spectacular showers of sparks by using a poking stick that must have been a good 18 feet long. I personally am in awe of a fire artist that can wield such a mighty weapon, the poking stick being an essential tool in achieving the perfect flame.

The glowing interior of the fire didn't have an easily identifiable boundary - I found myself musing repeatedly on how far down under our feet the embers stretched, covered by a deceptively innocent looking layer of damp wood.

11.12.04 American diner breakfast in Forks, Washington. Foreground: biscuits and gravy, hash browns and cheap, watery American coffee. Background: plate which formerly held a waffle with bacon baked inside.