Last day, and not even a full day shooting so people have time to travel.
David left the decision for our last subject up to the group. It was an overcast day, so the Elwha River valley (where I went on Day 0, and the group went briefly on Day 1) was one choice. But David felt the clouds might just be a low-lying marine layer of fog, and that Hurricane Ridge just might be clear. Layla–a native of British Columbia–agreed. Peter wanted Elwha, and the entire class was with him. I had this feeling about Hurricane Ridge, though. A really, really strong feeling. And my ride, Peter, was adamant… in his friendly, easy-going way.
I decided to take the risk of riding up the mountains on my own. I say risk, because Patrick had to change his… jets, or something… at 4,000 feet and then 8,000 feet on the Scooter Cannonball this past spring. I didn’t know if my little Vespa would just lose power at high altitude. Worst case scenario: I would have to turn around. Bad case scenario: I’d have to hike the last little bit. A worthwhile risk.
OK, it wasn’t just the jets or whatever. The previous two times we went up Hurricane Ridge, it was hella cold. I was going to be a human popsicle by the time I reached the top, and that isn’t conducive to photography.
Layla and David were right: it was just a marine layer. But there was a second marine layer a good thousand feet above Mt. Olympus, so the sky was fairly flat. I took a few pictures, including this panorama. It’s a technique Peter mentioned involving stitching together multiple pics. I have software that does this (poorly) but I’d never thought of actually trying it (like all pictures in my blog, just click to enlarge).
But mainly, I was uninspired again.
Until I spied two deer walking across the meadow. There was my foreground. Considering how docile deer in Olympic NP were the past two days, I knew I could get within ten feet of them, maybe closer, without upsetting them at all. The approach was painful. I had to walk slowly, not only to avoid spooking the deer, but to make sure that I didn’t step on any of the delicate little plants and flowers just starting to sprout.
I took a ridiculous number of shots: with deep green firs on the mountainsides contrasting with wispy white clouds and a pale blue sky resting atop snow covered peaks, getting a balanced picture was next to impossible, so I needed to hedge my bets with lots of shots at lots of different f-stops. I even ditched the circular polarizer for a graduated neutral-density filter that darkened a third of the picture (the sky in this case) by about half-a-stop, balancing things a little bit better.
Eventually, the pair of deer moved on, but as I was packing up my gear to head back down, I spied an entire herd. Not only that, but they were grazing on one side of a ravine and in front of a clump of pine trees. A much more interesting foreground than the flat, brown-green meadow the first pair were wandering through. I took a ludicrous number of shots. Oddly enough, though, the larger number of deer made the picture far less pleasing. There was too much going on. The best, I believe, is the one above, of the two deer, walking, crossing from snow to meadow. Any thoughts?
I stopped, but this time, it wasn’t because the deer had walked away. Over the past two hours–from 8am to 10am–the temperature had risen so much that I was pouring sweat under the heavy jacket and sweater I was wearing to avoid becoming a human popsicle. I actually used the electrical hand-dryer in the ranger station’s bathroom to dry off my t-shirt.
On the way down, I thought I spotted Peter’s rental car by Heart of the Hills campground right near the camp entrance, so I pulled over. I followed the sound of water, and low-and-behold, there were Peter and Layla and another fellow whose name I had forgotten. Not only did this give me one more chance to say goodbye to Peter and Layla, but I got this shot.
By then, I was done. I stopped by Dungeness National Wildlife Refugee on the way back, but it was stale and lacking in wildlife beyond birds (which are impossible to photograph without a 600mm lens).
Instead of taking 101, I decided to take back roads as much as possible. It lengthened the ride and increased my exhaustion, but it was far more pleasurable. 
And I spied a herd of Roosevelt Elk that, according to my Olympic NP map, are "much shier than those elk you may find further east; it is unlikely that you will see any while you are in the park." No joke. All I needed to do was stop my scooter 100 yards from them, and they clumped together and started to move away. I waited patiently, but the best I could manage was this–a distant shot with an ugly background.