Monday we all seemed to be in agreement that a day off from kayaking would be good after two days and before the next two days. We climbed to the south peak Chinese Mountain--hardly a mountain--with tremendous views of the south side of Quadra Island, sunlight on the sea, alder and Douglas fir forests below us, Vancouver Island, the mainland, possibly the most beautiful view I have ever beheld.
RDC was a little offended for Colorado's sake. It's not Colorado's fault it lacks water, and water is what a vista needs to be first class. Water, land, more water than land, well mixed up, and not too much evidence of humanity. Certain boats are okay but points off for almost all houses. I had even said of Main Lake that it is what Uncas dreams of at night, so he could have been offended for Connecticut's sake as well.
After that we hiked through primeval forest, covered with moss and ferns and looking like home except without brambles and other nasty underbrush, me expecting a dinosaur to peer out from behind, if not one of the 70-year-old firs of the second planting, then one of the massive trunks still rotting away from the clear-cutting before that. We found our way to Morte Lake, colder than the chained lakes but still swimmable (and I finally brought my goggles), especially since the sun finally came properly out.
I learned that hemlocks tend to tip at the top. Before that pointer, I could sense them even though I mis-identified them on closer inspection. I was pleased to see, when we shuttled days later between Boeing Field and Sea-Tac, that the trees I called hemlocks the week before were hemlocks. It's a Blink thing, maybe. Malcolm Gladwell posits that you can recognize the last stranger you interacted with--a waiter, a clerk at the post office, whoever--but you'd be flummoxed if you tried to describe that person to a third party and even would confuse your own memory so that after the effort you might have lost your recognition as well.