Storm: when the whole surface of the sea is foam, the wind and rain blowing. There was a High Surf Warning, so we darted for the coast despite heavy rain on the way. The wave watchers were out, but nobody lasted long in the blow along the crest of the berm at Rialto. The camera had no idea how to cope with it (nor I in the afterprocessing in the PC— sorry, you can't see how it was.)
IJ says that's the grimmest beach photo I've ever sent her.
There were fishermen out after steelhead all along where highway 101 follows the Sol Duc River, that is, there were parked boat trailers and pickups, and the occasional sighting of fishermen in waders walking along the highway. We did see a sea lion working the Quileute River mouth at La Push, just a glimpse but it counts for 'marine mammal sighting'. No elk to be seen, and we looked carefully whenever passing all the appropriate prairies and grassy meadows. Also no eagles.
My poor houseguest AO, still willing and agreeable all these decades later, was blown about and cold at Rialto. Later, on First Beach, the tide was receding and the rain less, so we went walkies; but I wasn't watching out for her city-slicker self, and she got caught by an incomer where she couldn't retreat—wet to the knees up under the rainsuit, rubber mocs trashed, generally demoralized. She asked me last night, plaintively, 'Tell me again what we're doing tomorrow.' 'Walk in the 'hood in the morning, then back to the outer coast,' I said heartlessly. But I suppose I should reconsider. Depends if I am in hostess persona or tourguide persona. (Or doing what I want, which frequently works for tourguiding, but sure failed yesterday. Right now I have her bundled up in my jeans, my turtleneck, my best green sweater. Will take better care of her today, yes, whether we go to the outer coast or no.)