Hoh Rainforest
7 / 8
After a 45-minute drive from our campground, we reached the Hoh Rainforest just before 9 a.m. The parking lot was already full with cars parked down the road, but we lucked into a single spot right near the visitor center.
Ranger talk at Hoh Visitor Center
1 / 17
A ranger talk was starting in ten minutes, so we stuck around. We learned that Sitka spruce and western hemlock dominate the Hoh, while Douglas fir and western red cedar are the most widespread trees across Washington. The ranger explained how dense undergrowth blocks most seedlings from sprouting in the soil, so new trees often take root on fallen ones, known as nurse logs. Sometimes they even start on mossy branches of living trees. She also described how trees communicate underground through root networks, sharing chemical signals when, say, beetles attack, so their neighbors can prepare a defense. Forest gossip, basically.
It’s been a dry year, so the usual banana slug parade was absent. Most were hiding under layers of the florest floor according to the ranger. We only spotted two, tucked into a crevice near the base of a tree.
We wandered both short trails near the visitor center, each one winding past towering trees, tangled roots, and a few glimpses of the Hoh River. The Hall of Mosses had the moodier, more ancient vibe, while the Spruce Nature Trail opened up a bit, with patches of sun and river views. By the time we were heading out around 1 p.m., a long line of cars had stacked up at the ranger station, people out stretching their legs like they’d been stuck there a while. If you're planning to visit the Hoh, do yourself a favor—arrive early.
The rainforest was beautiful, no doubt. But for me, it didn’t feel wildly different from what we’ve already seen in places like the North Cascades or Sol Duc. Maybe I’m getting spoiled.
The next day, we let the pace slow way down. Slept in, knocked out some laundry in Forks, and grabbed burgers from a food truck in La Push. We sat up on the bluff, watching the sea while ravens worked the crowd. Danny watched one puff itself up like a showman to delight a kid. Then, as the kid turned to point it out to his mom, the raven darted in and stole a fry. Clever little thief.
It’s been a dry year, so the usual banana slug parade was absent. Most were hiding under layers of the florest floor according to the ranger. We only spotted two, tucked into a crevice near the base of a tree.
We wandered both short trails near the visitor center, each one winding past towering trees, tangled roots, and a few glimpses of the Hoh River. The Hall of Mosses had the moodier, more ancient vibe, while the Spruce Nature Trail opened up a bit, with patches of sun and river views. By the time we were heading out around 1 p.m., a long line of cars had stacked up at the ranger station, people out stretching their legs like they’d been stuck there a while. If you're planning to visit the Hoh, do yourself a favor—arrive early.
The rainforest was beautiful, no doubt. But for me, it didn’t feel wildly different from what we’ve already seen in places like the North Cascades or Sol Duc. Maybe I’m getting spoiled.
The next day, we let the pace slow way down. Slept in, knocked out some laundry in Forks, and grabbed burgers from a food truck in La Push. We sat up on the bluff, watching the sea while ravens worked the crowd. Danny watched one puff itself up like a showman to delight a kid. Then, as the kid turned to point it out to his mom, the raven darted in and stole a fry. Clever little thief.