In the year nineteen hundred and ten the Elwha was damned by man. For 102 years it bore its perdition, wondering what it had done to fall victim to such punishment. It had done nothing but existed, and at that point for humanity, that was enough.
There was a stillness about that can only exist in the dark hours of a Sunday morning. The sun was still hidden and the church bells unsung as I put on my shorts and hoodie. The day would be long, but I would soon learn my failed understanding when it comes to the concepts of time.
He arrived at 6 am, backpack and hiking boots in hand. A groggy exchange of words failed and we rode in silence south. We had one more detour, to pick up his mother, before hitting the long road out. As I slept in the backseat I could hear the echoes from far away.
"They have told me that you are coming."
"I'm sorry I didn't wait for you to ask."
"I've been waiting for years."
"I couldn't hear you."
"I wasn't ready to call for you.”
“I wasn't ready to come.”
“We're not so different, you and I."
We met with a larger group in front of the Olympic National Park Visitor’s Center. Most of their faces had seen more life than myself, but still held a child like innocence, as if they've chosen to ignore the weight of Atlas and instead embrace the ignorance of youth. Such a feat is something I can admire, but could never do.
"Why do hold judgment against them?"
"I used to be like them myself"
"You're still more like them than you accept."
"I don't like that part of myself "
"But there are other, more important, parts you hate more. Let’s talk about those."
We were still barred from seeing the removal on the upper river, only two weeks completed. The first stop was at an old ranger station just north of the fresh wound. We walked a hundred yards or so down to the shore where a ranger began to talk about the scale of what was trying to be accomplished. While interesting, the waters spoke will such vigor I couldn't ignore.
"I'm not sure I've ever been seen this way before."
"You have not changed to us. You are who you've always been."
“It doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“Dams can change the way you look, but cannot change what you are.”
A pair of salmon, each over two feet in length, appeared by the shore and began a mating ritual. They couldn't understand our presence and therefore ignored it. They simply did what they knew.
"Your dams are crumbling too."
"I had to build them."
"They told us it was out of necessity too."
"I'm not sure I'm ready for what comes next."
"There is much more to show you."
We tracked down the river to our next stop, the once flooded lands of Lake Aldwell. While life could be seen struggling all around, there was still a barren hopelessness than hung in the air and whispered on the wind.
"Its so desolate."
"The land is still healing. My scars are far easier to see than yours."
"How can I restore what I cannot see?"
"When you drain the waters, its far easier to see the damage."
We walked a mile through the silt. When we reached a goose neck in the river we couldn't pass we sat for lunch. I finished earlier and wander off along the shore. There was a larger group of salmon this time, all struggling up the current. As they continued to swim, I thought about those that were here before the lake was drained and what had happened to all of them.
"They have been waiting to return. There are others that wait for you."
"What about what was here before? A whole lake filled with life. Did it all die?"
"It was not the life meant for me. It was all a lie."
"I guess we really aren't so different."
"You have much more to see."
We hiked back along the opposite side of the moonscape and proceeded to our next destination. It was just around the curves we were unable to hike beyond, high above on the hillside. Looking down you could see the exposed bedrock where the power plant once stood, and river flowing freely beside it, where 100 feet of concrete stood. Nothing grew where the power plant stood, two years had passed and only a sterile slope remained.
“Will this land ever come back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Only have faith that time is the ultimate remedy for the tragedies that befall us.”
“What if it never comes back?”
“That is a fate I have had to accepted. But I still hold out hope.”
The final stop was along the shore, at the mouth of the Elwha. We walked out along the dike, fully expecting the typical rocky shore of coastal Washington. What came into view couldn't have been more unexpected. As we crested a small embankment a sandy beach stretched out in front of us for hundreds of yards. All of the silt and debris, pent up behind the dams, had returned to the ocean and with it came the land I was standing upon. Seabirds covered a spit in the distance and you could almost hear the faint song of the whales in the straight.
“It’s amazing.”
“It’s how things should be. For both of us. You must rebuild the land that's been lost. You must tear down the dams that remain.”
“I’m trying, but it isn’t easy for me.”
“It isn’t easy for any of us, but I will be here for you. Remember, we’re not so different.”
I sat on the sand bar and stared off towards Baker. He looked different from what I’d grown to know it as. The southern contour is far more uniform, reminiscent of St Helens, before her awakening. From here the peak was jagged and off center. I guess we all look different depending on your vantage point.
The rest of the group was ready to make the drive back. I paused for a moment longer, unable to look away from the mountain.
“I will come and speak to you in person.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“You won’t be waiting long.”
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