You might need a pronunciation guide for this trail–Se-qual-it-chew.
That, and a map to find DuPont.
Then, too, if you can catch the rarest thing in western Washington these days–a sunny, 45 degree morning–like we did, this is the place you want to be.
Because all that rain has to amount to something. Somewhere.
And here it is. Eighteen shades of green.
In every direction.
The creek running beside us is a symphony.
We can almost forget our car is parked a mile away on concrete surrounded by buildings.
It’s truly a leisurely, barely-slanted walk. I’m sure our driveway is steeper.
That hole there at the end…
Is a tunnel.
On the right side,though, is an old, unused set of tracks that leads directly to the wharf.
Might as well try to walk on them.
Ten feet from the tunnel is this view. The DuPont wharf.
The whole thing is measured in feet. 36 feet wide by 300 feet long.
And those rocks…yeah…forget about sneaking up on anyone. Crunch. Crunch. Our shoes left craters at each step.
But golly, it’s pretty.
And it’s windy.
Which is why we’re already headed back through the tunnel again…
To watch our third train go by.
And to count its cars.
Then it’s a mosey back the way way we came.
Until 3.1 miles from start to finish, the trickle of the creek is just a memory, and we’re closing our car door again.