Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller

Farewell & Hello

The afternoon sun bathed Port Angeles in a warm golden light as we pulled into the KOA campground, our Airstream travel trailer gleaming under the endless blue sky. The air was fresh with the scent of salt and pine, carried on a light breeze drifting in from the ocean.

We parked in our designated camping spot, which barely accommodated our truck and trailer, as the silver surface of the Airstream reflected light with precision. The campground was bustling with activity—other campers were adjusting their setups, children were riding bicycles along winding paths, and the distant crackling of campfires suggested stories yet to be shared.

We sat at the picnic table, soaking in the bright afternoon glow, the energy of the day still strong. The distant murmur of waves, the occasional gull overhead, the easy rhythm of the moment—it all felt right. Our last afternoon in the United States, marked by quiet excitement and the promise of adventure ahead.

The road to the ferry terminal was smooth and quiet as Port Angeles began its day. The smell of the ocean was noticeable, birds moved around the rooftops, and the ocean reflected the town's lights as the sun started to rise.

We stood at the dock with our passports in hand, acknowledging that this moment marked our departure. It was our final view of Washington State and our last inhalation of its salty air before boarding the ferry headed for Victoria, British Columbia, the country we call home.

Before any signs of morning's first light, we arrived at the ferry terminal, waiting in queue to drive into the hold of the ferry. After we boarded, we admired the breathtaking streaks of pink and gold across the sky while sipping our hot coffee on the upper deck, where Bear was permitted to stay for the journey back to Canada. We savored these last moments before the transition ahead.

The ferry cut effortlessly through the glassy waters, carrying us toward a new adventure. Victoria waited on the horizon, but the journey itself was magic.

The Olympic Mountains stood tall in the distance, their snow-capped peaks glowing under the morning sun—a silent farewell from the towering giants that had watched over us. Seagulls danced on the wind, their cries weaving through the ocean air as we leaned against the railing, watching the shifting blues below.

It was a gentle transition between worlds, between countries, between past and future.

And then—Victoria. The harbor sparkled, boats bobbing lazily, and the grand architecture of the city greeted us with open arms.

We drove onto Canadian soil, experiencing the breeze and anticipating new discoveries, roads, and adventures in this country we call home.

This wasn’t just a farewell—it was a beginning of a new and exciting adventure.

 War Over a Pig

The Salish Sea shimmered under the morning sun, stretching wide and endless before us as the ferry cut through the glassy waters toward San Juan Island. The salty breeze carried whispers of adventure, wrapping around us like a promise—we were stepping into a place where rugged beauty, deep history, and wild landscapes converged into something unforgettable.

The moment the ferry docked at Friday Harbor, we drove from the ferry into the town, eager to explore. The town hummed with energy—boats bobbing in the marina, shopfronts bursting with character, and the scent of fresh coffee drifting from cozy cafés. The island was alive, vibrating with possibility, and we were ready to chase it.

We drove the streets of Friday Harbor, the heart of the island, its waterfront lined with historic buildings and bustling with fishermen preparing their boats, kayakers launching into the bay, and islanders greeting one another like old friends.

After soaking in the coastal charm, we hit the road, chasing the untamed corners of San Juan Island waiting beyond the marina.

The road twisted north, winding past fields dotted with grazing deer and towering firs, leading us to Roche Harbor, a place dripping with history and charm.

The grand Hotel de Haro, standing since the 1880s, watched over the marina with timeless elegance, its wooden balconies overlooking luxury yachts and sailboats rocking gently in the breeze.

But before diving further into adventure, we paused for a quick bite, settling into a waterfront café with a view that stole our breath.

The salty air mixed with the mouthwatering scent of fresh seafood, the sound of waves tapping against the dock completing the perfect setting. A crisp salad, a plate of fish tacos, and an icy water later, we were refueled, refreshed, and ready for more.

Just beyond the harbor, San Juan Islands Sculpture Park pulled us in, a hidden gem where art and nature collided—giant sculptures rising from the meadows, blending into the forest as if the land itself had crafted them.

But the wild places called us, and soon, we were back on the road, chasing the western cliffs.

The road south led to the wild, untamed cliffs of Lime Kiln Point State Park, a place famous for its orca-watching views. The air was sharper here, charged with the presence of the Pacific itself, waves pounding against the rugged coastline.

We scrambled across rocky outcrops, adrenaline surging with each step as we scanned the horizon. And then—movement. A shadow in the water, a sleek black fin slicing through the waves—an orca.

It was brief, powerful, an electrifying glimpse into the life of the sea. The historic lighthouse stood proudly behind us, as if keeping a silent watch over the creatures of the deep. Standing at the edge of the world, wind whipping through our hair, ocean stretching endlessly before us—it felt like magic.

Chasing history, we headed south into San Juan Island National Historical Park’s American Camp, where the land spread wide and open, winds rippling through golden prairie fields.

This was the site of the infamous Pig War of 1859, where British and American troops nearly went to battle over the shooting of a single pig. It was a chapter of history so absurd it was hard to believe, yet here we were, walking through the very land where tensions once ran high.

Now, the only battles fought here were between the waves and the cliffs. Eagles soared overhead, deer moved fearlessly through the fields, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore drowned out any remnants of old rivalries.

Determined to take in the island from the sky, we tackled the Mount Finlayson Trail, a steady uphill battle through towering firs and wildflower-filled meadows.

With every step, the world expanded until at the summit, it felt like we were standing at the top of the island itself—Friday Harbor in the distance, Lime Kiln’s rocky cliffs stretching west, and the vast Pacific beyond, rolling toward the horizon with no end in sight.

We stood breathless, victorious, conquered by the beauty of it all.

As the afternoon melted into evening, we drifted back toward Friday Harbor, the golden light of sunset igniting the waters.

The sky burned in bold strokes of orange, pink, and violet, its reflection dancing in the harbor as boats bobbed lazily. We stood at the edge of the dock, staring at the sea, reluctant to leave.

But the ferry horn echoed through the harbor, calling us back.

As we watched the island disappear into the distance, the echoes of waves, wind, and adventure pulsed in our veins.

San Juan Island hadn’t just been a place—it had been a force, a legend, a wild stretch of beauty that had marked us forever.

And in that moment, we knew—this was only a temporary farewell.

We’d be back someday.

  Seattle Nights & Waterfront Wanderings

The city welcomed us with a glow, its skyline shimmering under the evening lights as we rolled into Seattle, Washington. The Space Needle stood tall against the night sky, and the streets pulsed with energy—neon signs flickering, laughter spilling from restaurants, and the scent of fresh seafood drifting from the waterfront.

We checked into our hotel, tossing bags onto the bed and barely pausing before heading back out—Seattle was alive, and we wanted to be part of it.

The city’s heartbeat pulsed beneath our feet as we wandered through Pike Place Market, its famous neon sign glowing in the evening air. Though the vendors had mostly packed up for the night, the magic lingered—the scent of roasted coffee, the whispers of maritime history, the echoes of daytime chatter fading into the hum of twilight.

The waterfront beckoned, the cool breeze wrapping around us as we followed the pathways toward the edge of the city. Ferries slid silently across the water, their reflections rippling in the dark sea like moving constellations.

Before heading back to the hotel, we took a detour to see The Spheres, their futuristic glass curves glowing under the city lights. The massive domes, filled with vibrant plant life, stood like alien structures in the heart of the Amazon headquarters. As we walked past, peering into the illuminated greenery within, the contrast between the natural world and the urban jungle felt surreal—a collision of science, innovation, and nature tucked into the core of downtown Seattle.

But then, we stumbled across something unexpected and delightfully strange—a towering collection of giant popsicles, vibrant and surreal, standing tall against the night. Their bright colors clashed brilliantly against the city’s steel and glass, as if someone had frozen summer itself into massive sculptures for us to admire. It was an unexpected reminder that Seattle thrives on creativity, randomness, and surprises tucked into every corner.

After an enjoyable walk, we felt it necessary to have a late dinner, as we had not eaten since lunchtime. Due to our adventures from a day spent on San Juan Island, we opted to order Chinese food through Uber Eats and had it delivered to the hotel. Unfortunately, the meal did not meet our expectations, and in hindsight, it would have been preferable to go without rather than consume unsatisfactory food. 

Dawn arrived soft and golden, spilling over the city, casting a warm glow on the glass buildings and the bustling waterfront below. We wasted no time—Seattle’s famous waterfront was waiting, and we were ready to explore.

The Seattle Aquarium was our first stop, with its large viewing windows offering a glimpse into the underwater world. However, we were unable to enter the building as Bear was not permitted inside. Despite this setback, we admired the exterior and enjoyed watching the different marine life from outside. The vibrant colors of the fish and the graceful movements of the sea creatures fascinated us. We took a moment to appreciate the coastal breeze and the sounds of the waterfront, capturing photos near the entrance with Bear happily posing alongside us. Although we couldn't explore the exhibits inside, the visit still provided an enjoyable start to our day. 

Outside, the waterfront boardwalk buzzed with life—the salty air thick with the scent of fresh-baked pastries from nearby cafés, street performers strumming guitars, joggers chasing the early breeze. The Seattle Great Wheel loomed overhead, its towering frame slicing into the sky, promising unparalleled views of Puget Sound.

From the Olympic Sculpture Park, where modern art stood boldly against the ocean backdrop, we watched ferries glide past and ships disappear beyond the horizon, chasing the endless blue.

Lunch led us to an open-air seafood stand, where the salty breeze carried the scent of freshly grilled fish and briny ocean air. We ordered steaming bowls of clam chowder, its creamy warmth filling us with comfort as we took in the lively chatter of fellow travelers and the distant call of seagulls overhead. Satisfied and reenergized, we continued our adventure, ready to see where the next turn would take us.

Seattle’s charm wasn’t just in its size or its skyline—it was in the way it felt like both a city and an escape, the perfect blend of urban energy and coastal serenity.

But soon, it was time to trade the skyscrapers for winding roads, the city for the countryside.

The drive north was effortless—the truck humming steadily beneath us, a soothing backdrop to the day’s adventures. Bear lay sound asleep, worn out from the excitement, while the scenery transformed before our eyes—from bustling city streets to sprawling fields, dense forests whispering in the wind, and elegant bridges arching over tranquil bays.

At the border, passports in hand, the final transition happened—Seattle behind us, Canada ahead, and the adventure still spilling into the kilometres ahead of us as we made our way back to our RV Resort in Surrey, BC.

 Ice & Adrenaline

The Heliotrope Ridge Trail wasn’t just calling—it was roaring, demanding we rise to the challenge. But before we even stepped foot on the trail, we had to conquer the road that led us there.

The drive into Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest was its own battle—a narrow, twisting path carved through deep woods, where potholes lay in wait like hidden traps. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as we bumped and swayed, dodging sudden dips in the road, gripping the steering wheel with determined hands.

With every kilometre, the road became rougher, wilder, more unforgiving—the kind of path that tested both patience and skill. The towering trees loomed closer, their branches reaching out like spectators to our journey. At times, the forest thickened so much that the sunlight barely touched the ground, leaving us in a tunnel of shadow and green.

Then, just as we began questioning whether this was truly a road or simply a challenge for the brave, the dense trees parted, revealing the trailhead.

The adventure had officially begun.

The first stretch of the hike was a race against gravity, weaving through towering evergreens, their branches stretching skyward like sentinels guarding the way. The scent of damp earth mixed with the crisp mountain air, fueling every step. The sound of rushing water grew louder—glacial melt surging through the veins of the mountain—until suddenly, a roaring creek crossed our path.

We leaped from stone to stone, balancing above the icy torrent, the thrill of the crossing electrifying every nerve.

With every step, the trees began to retreat, revealing the wild, open landscape ahead. The sky expanded, the world stretched wider, and the wind picked up, carrying whispers from the glacier above. The trail sharpened, switching from soft earth to jagged rock, demanding more grit, more determination.

And then—the moment of awe. The ridge broke open, unveiling a panoramic explosion of raw beauty. Valleys plunged into unseen depths, glaciers clung to distant peaks, and Mount Baker loomed like an untouchable force above.

We powered forward, every muscle alive with adrenaline as the terrain morphed beneath us—rock giving way to ice, the whispers of the glacier now an undeniable roar. Crevasses split the surface in glowing shades of blue, each one a deep, frozen abyss stretching into the unknown.

The ice groaned, shifting under its own weight, reminding us that we weren’t just standing on frozen ground—we were standing on something alive.

We reached out, running our hands along the glacier’s surface, feeling the icy chill seep into our skin, into our bones, into our very being. Time froze in that moment—we weren’t just explorers, we were part of the mountain now.

The wind howled as we reluctantly turned back, retracing our steps through the shifting landscape. Every rushing stream, every rock, every lingering patch of snow held a story now—our story.

And as we reached the trailhead once more, feet aching, hearts pounding, souls alight with adventure, we knew one thing:

Heliotrope Ridge & Coleman Glacier hadn’t just been a destination—they had been a test, a force, a legend we would carry forever.