Olympic Peninsula Field Notes

You’ll find it where Highway 101 curves like an oyster knife around Hood Canal—a town where retired hippies and third-generation loggers compare calluses over the same weathered bar. The air here carries competing perfumes: fresh-cut cedar, salt-kissed breezes, and the occasional whiff of patchouli from someone’s ’72 VW bus. Quilcene doesn’t advertise. But you’ll remember how the fiddle music tangled with the river’s rhythm long after you’ve gone.