Back behind the beaches of the Strait of Juan de Fuca lay a calm backwater, cool and still in the fog of early morning. Old mooring timbers, trees and reflections of them all diffused into a ghostly scene reminiscent more of a painting than either a photograph or eyewitness experience. Only the distant sound of gentle surf entered this otherwise silent world, an unseen whisper from somewhere to the side that was less an intrusion than a lullaby. Had there been a hammock here, I might have climbed in and drifted to sleep, perhaps unable to ascertain the dream within from the reality all around.
Clallam Bay WA (15 Jul 6) Looking ENE
48.2551, -124.262Foggy Backwater
Back behind the beaches of the Strait of Juan de Fuca lay a calm backwater, cool and still in the fog of early morning. Old mooring timbers, trees and reflections of them all diffused into a ghostly scene reminiscent more of a painting than either a photograph or eyewitness experience. Only the distant sound of gentle surf entered this otherwise silent world, an unseen whisper from somewhere to the side that was less an intrusion than a lullaby. Had there been a hammock here, I might have climbed in and drifted to sleep, perhaps unable to ascertain the dream within from the reality all around.
Clallam Bay WA (15 Jul 6) Looking ENE
48.2551, -124.262