Henry V (part one)

There must be somebody called Henry in Seattle, but will I meet them in time?
I have already met a Harold and a Dennis, and Krissie met a Tom- but so far neither hide nor hair of Henry, and will any Henry do or will it have to be the fifth one that I meet?

I had met Harold once before, interestingly enough on a beach as I met him this time on a beach too: maybe he is a guy who just turns up on beaches, the first time in San Francisco a year ago and then on Alki beach in west Seattle a year later. He really is a mystery, but as nice a guy as you could hope to meet on a beach anywhere.

Dennis I met whilst he was walking with his granddaughter through the forest high above the Elhwa river in the Olympic national park. He was wearing the largest pair of cut off wellington boots I have ever seen on a human and being a tall man with large feet he appeared like a giant looming over his young charge as they followed a stone labyrinth at the side of the trail. Perhaps I should explain.

Seattle sits on the East shore of Puget Sound, at least I think that is the case as it is very difficult to 'see' the geographical lay out of the land without a good map. Puget sound would be a huge inlet or bay from the Pacific ocean if it were not for the countless islands, small, large, inhabited (and not) that choke the waters. If you stand on the waterfront as close to downtown Seattle as you can you get a hint of ocean but only a hint as the surf in fact lies over a hundred miles away to the west, past the islands and the east side of Puget Sound.

The East side of the Sound is dominated by the Olympic national park, home to the elk, snow capped summer peaks visible from downtown (if not covered in cloud) and the Olympic Hot Springs. (The elk have their own traffic warning signs that are remotely activated by a sensor that the elk wears.) From Seattle's waterfront a ferry will take you across to Bainbridge Island and it was here, earlier, that Krissie met Tom, a former writer for Buster Keaton who has a life size statue of the comic in his house clothed in original costume. it's not every day that you meet Buster's hat.
From there you can drive across the Hood Canal bridge and find yourself on the east side of the Sound less than an hour after leaving the ferry. To get to the Hot Springs there is an hour more of driving and then a walk of a couple of miles through bear country.

I didn't see a bear, but Dennis gave me a little fright, I hadn't expected to see anyone quite so tall in the middle of the forest. The labyrinth was a simple spiral of stones someone had set at the side of the trail, a useful distraction half way along the hike at a point, especially for four year olds, when you are beginning to tire of a hot spring trip. I would have asked if his granddaughter was called Henry if she had not so clearly been female and already introduced as Gilda. I think.

The hot springs are hidden amongst the forest alongside the trail, there are almost a dozen though not all are inviting and we settled by one that sits on a ledge overhanging the racing torrent of mountain river Elhwa; I later fell asleep among the ferns listening to its constant babble.The best and most private is well hidden and you need to climb steeply beyond the obvious to find it. It was occupied when I arrived by the feet of a totally naked, somewhat overweight man who was reading his book.

A little startled i panted out a 'Hi There' but just wasn't brave enough to ask him if his name was Henry.

www.nwhotsprings.net/olympic.htm,