Over the weekend, J.R., Melanie, and I drove out to
Neah Bay on the Olympic Peninsula. We had some crazy notion of going to the
most northwestern point in the continental United States, which was just a wee bit farther that we had imagined. Luckily, the payoff was worth it; it was
fucking gorgeous. And, after we hiked out to the point on Cape Flattery which claims to be the most north and west, we saw whales. Freaking whales. Totally unexpected, totally cool, and totally over in the blink of an eye. Whales are faster than you think, people. This pair got away before any of us could get a shot -- well, I got
a shot of some tail, but that's it. Anyway, my point is this: Eighteen years on the East Coast, perilously close to the Atlantic, and nary a whale. Two months in Seattle, and bam! Whales. This almost makes up for
the whole Mariners thing.
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