Years (and years) ago, my young husband and I took a getaway to one of our favorite Northwest destinations— historic Lake Crescent Lodge. The quaint lodge graces the shores of scenic Lake Crescent and is nestled in the foothills of Olympic National Park. We have many pleasant memories of our days spent canoeing, hiking, and swimming in the area, as well as romantic nights at the lodge.
One day on that sunny September getaway so long ago, we decided to explore Fairholme Campground at the west end of Lake Crescent. We arrived only to find it closed for the season, and yet its peaceful solitude beckoned us. We parked on the road and made our way into the park.
What a glorious, uncharacteristically hot day it was! With no one anywhere to be seen and with the park all to ourselves, we decided that a leisurely skinny-dip could do no harm. And we knew the innocent adventure would make our special getaway all the more memorable.
And memorable it was. While my husband swam in the clear, cool waters of the lake, I enjoyed my book on the beach. Engrossed in the story, I gradually became aware of a shadow looming over me. The shadow had an unnerving resemblance to a man in a hat. I glanced up to find a park ranger staring down at me.
“The park is closed, ma’am,” said the ranger, not once averting his eyes. “You’ll have to leave.”
I quickly sat up and wrapped my towel around me. “My husband is still swimming in the lake,” I blurted out.
“Yes, I see that ma’am. He needs to leave, too.” By this time, my husband noticed the ranger and swam closer to shore. Not sharing my sheepish reaction in the least, he confidently strode the last few feet with just a bit of a defiant set to his jaw, and unabashedly leapt out of the water to stand between his waiting wife and the ranger.
We immediately pulled on our clothes and gathered our things to leave. The ranger graciously tipped his hat and said, “Have a nice day,” not once breaking a smile.
As we walked back to our car, wouldn’t you know it, but a bee flew down my loose-fitting peasant blouse. I screamed, pulled up the blouse over my head, and ran around like a bare-chested crazy woman. Believe it or not, at that exact moment the ranger drove by and tipped his hat once again.
*The author’s name has been changed to ‘protect’ the guilty and to shield her grandchildren from embarrassment
