In 1892, poet Herbert Bashford joined a camping party for a walk up Washington’s wild Olympic coast—and found the rising tide more dangerous than any highwayman.
“Closer yet, closer came the billows; we saw wild white forms against the darkness. The wind rose. The rain beat upon the tent. The situation was alarming.”
A Jefferson County settler writes to the editor offering to plant up to 200 families on vacant state land in the Queets Valley, warning that locked-up acreage means no roads, no growth and no homes.
“We do not want to see the lands lie idle or be held by the state indefinitely... we know that it means stagnation to the growth of our community.”