At the entrance of the Hoh Rainforest Trail, lies the majestic Hall of Mosses. The aptly named trail is navigated by an easy 1.5 mile dirt-packed path that winds listlessly between native ferns, mushrooms, and massive [you guessed it:] moss covered Spruce trees that are centuries old.
Time has been forgotten here, words should be whispered, and steps made soft and carefully. Branches draped with thick blankets of airy moss make the forest appear to be asleep, cozily wrapped in a nest of pillows; both hibernating and frozen in time. Limbs bend and fold on themselves with the weight of time and age, this beauty clearly such a burden.
The trail is overflowing with knotted root systems, abundant nurse trees, and teeming with more shades of green in one eye-full than many people have ever experienced. It’s difficult not to be in awe while here: head constantly reaching back and looking up in wonder to the highest branches, like a wide-eyed child looking to the all-knowing parent, hoping for answers or assurance; small hand in wise. To think of the time that has passed here, to think of the things it hasn’t seen, but yet it’s been here all along and hasn’t missed a thing. While we change, it hasn’t; a constant predictability that comforts and reminds. Truthfully, places like this is where we come from – our history – and one we need to revisit in order to remember our place.