Radial Flow Post #1

This is a story about radial flow and the magic it creates.

How 14 beings can spring from almost the same source yet have such wildly different characters.

It is the story of flow from source made manifest in physical form.

It is the tale of land and river, intertwined and inseparable. How the land shapes the river and how the river shapes the land. This is the journey of a single drop of rain, repeated billions of times over geological epochs. It is the story of Cascadia, of spruce and fir and cedar, of bear and elk and cougar, of eagles and American dippers, of salmon and steelhead, of frogs and nematodes and mycelium.

To tell this story, I begin with gratitude. With recognition of, and respect for, the first indigenous peoples of the Olympic Peninsula. And for their descendants, who are still living here today, tending the land and the waters. Despite the best efforts of the European settlers, who stole their land and committed acts of violence and great injustice.

Fourteen Rivers, in radial flow from the high alpine mountains of the Olympics. Rivers in radial flow are not common – and are often seen as sacred. Especially when it occurs outside the context of flowing radially from a large volcano. The reason it can happen in the Olympics is an interesting geography that has water on all sides of the peninsula.

The rivers that flow westward empty into the Pacific Ocean, the north flowing ones lead to the strait of Juan de Fuca, the East flowing rivers merge with Hood Canal and the 2 southward flows go to Grey's Harbor and the Chehalis River, eventually making their way to the Pacific.

I am grateful that many of the rivers here still carry their original names, even if a mangled anglicized version of them. Those names still evoke some of the power of deep connection between the land, the rivers, and the countless generations of humans who loved them.

Quilcene. Dosewallips. Duckabush. Skokomish. Hamma Hamma. Wynoochee. Humptulips. Quinault. Queets. Hoh. Bogachiel. Sol Duc. Elwha. Dungeness.

The names roll off the tongue, beginning to create the sense of flow, the aspect of a name belonging to place, evoking the magic of these beautiful rivers.

This is the story of one human (that’s me!) and her ongoing love affair with the wild rivers of the Olympics. This is the journey I undertook in 2023, my walking pilgrimage to visit all 14 of these sacred river beings. Between May and October I backpacked almost 500 miles and slept over 60 nights on the rivers, mostly solo. In profound gratitude, I share some of the stories and a bit of the wisdom they gifted me.