Olympic Coast Photography Trip PART TWO - The Foggy and Moody Rialto Beach

In Part One of this post I shared my experience trying to capture sunsets at Second Beach, in La Push, Washington. In this post I share my photography efforts in the early morning on Rialto Beach, on the same trip.

An Early Start

Sandwiched between my two evenings of trying to take pictures of sunsets out on the Olympic Coast came one morning with very different opportunities and challenges for photography. \

Having planned quite a bit for this trip, I had expected a lot of fog in the morning out at the beaches of La Push. Fog is quite common in the morning near the ocean, and I had planned to go out and shoot more simplistic and artistic photos of the rugged Washington coast in this weather.

I got a decent amount of sleep after shooting on my first evening at Second Beach, but I woke with a start in my tent the next day, at about 4:30 AM. Unsurprisingly given I had big plans for the morning, I could not go back to sleep. By 5:30 AM I was out on the pebbled Rialto Beach. There was only one other car in the trailhead parking lot (though I saw many beach campers later on).

For the uninitiated, Rialto Beach is a few miles of coastline situated north of the Quillayute River, just north of La Push. The “trail” at Rialto simply consists of about 1 mile of beach walking. The waves crash onto the shore, pelicans and seagulls dive into the water, and many mornings there is a thick fog obscuring the seastacks that litter the coast.

At 5:30 in the morning of my visit, there was fog, but not as much as I expected. I could slowly see a pink hue in the sky telling my the sun was rising, and I reached the primary attraction of Rialto Beach, the famous “Hole in the Wall” spot, expecting the fog to lift entirely.

Instead, the fog thickened, and I was treated to over 3 hours of even heavier fog and limited visibility.

Photographing Seastacks

Having arrived at my destination for the morning, I meandered along the coast searching for interesting compositions. My subjects? The impressive and otherworldly seastacks dotting the beach.

Taking photos in the fog is… easy, in a way.

Fog and heavy cloudcover have a tendancy to simplify your job as a photographer because there isn’t a dramatic sky or background to take into account. Fog puts the focus squarely on either the foreground or midground, and in the case of seastacks along the coast, almost isolates them completely.

This lends itself to simple, minimal styled photos with low saturation. Shapes and lines matter more than color.

Hole in the Wall, Rialto Beach

The large seastack at Hole in the Wall, Rialto Beach

At the Hole in the Wall spot (first photo above) there is a two pronged seastack (or large rock formation) situated very nicely at the edge of the beach and the water (second photo). There was a good stretch of beach leading up to this rock, and thus a wonderful rythm of waves lapping the shore repeatedly.

Both on my way north up to Hole in the Wall and on my way back south, leaving Hole in the Wall, I took pictures of the waves and this rock.

Especially as I was leaving, I noticed a great many visitors who took photos of this rock from higher up on the beach, away from the water. Unfortunately this meant that most peoples’ photos would not capture the drama happening at the waters edge.

Personally, if I notice that everyone is taking the same photo, from the same angle, I feel compelled to do something different. To capture some of the photos above I was situated precariously close to the water, and as waves would come in I’d have to both press the shutter and watch for a rogue splash that could ruin my gear.

Luckily no such rogue splash materialized.

And while I am generally pleased with the photos above, my early morning visit to Rialto Beach was quite challenging psychologically.

The Freedom and Fear of Hiking Alone

A foggy, rugged, and remote beach is a mysterious place.

It can feel simultaneously liberating - there is no one around, you can take your time photographing whatever you’d like - and also like you are being watched.

After hiking beyond the Hole in the Wall, where a few tents could be spotted near the treeline, I pushed north a little ways. I was determined to see how far I could go, and what other interesting rock formations I could find.

As I started to pass around a rocky outcrop sticking out into the sea (at low tide, thank goodness), a group of four hikers passed close. I asked them what was around the corner, and they shared that it was just rocky and rough hiking for a good long while.

That was a little ominous to hear. They were the last people I’d see for about 2 hours.

So I continued around the bend. I scrambled over endless rocks and small boulders (there was no beach here), and occassionally tried to walk the adjacent wet and uneven rock shelf, which was very slow.

The rugged coastline north of Rialto Beach

It was hard to focus on photography at that point, if I am honest.

I was looking around for compositions that might be pleasing, but the thick fog actually started to obscure even the huge seastacks, which meant my subjects were dissapearing. I also had to be so careful about where I stepped, lest I trip over a rock or step into a pool of water hidden by seaweed.

But the most challenging part of my morning came during a wondrous moment of serenity - as I was taking a photo of a heron that was fishing in the rocky water.

As I said, I had long since made it quite far from other people, and intentionally so.

It was perhaps 8:00 AM, and as I continued north I spotted a heron standing in the shallow water. Being so alone, I was utterly transfixed by this bird.

It would stand stock still, turn its head slowly, looking for a meal.

When it had found its target, it would arch its neck back, and pause. Suddenly it would strike, and its beak would emerge from the water clutching a long and slimy fish.

I watched this heron catch at least 3 fish like this. I found myself, much like the bird, standing still.

The heron and some ghostly rocks in the background

And then it happened.

I suddenly heard a big crash come from up and behind my head. I spun around, terrified by this sudden and very loud noise, and searched for what had made it.

Behind me was a moderate sized cliff wall, topped by trees. The sound had come from up on top of the cliff somewhere.

I continued to search - my eyes travelled from the top of the cliff, into the trees, and back down to the foot of the cliff, not far from where I stood.

Trees on the cliff

Luckily nothing else happened - no animal attacked me, no boulders came rolling off the cliff. But I cannot remember ever feeling more vulnerable in my life.

There I was, on a rocky beach, probably a good mile from any other people, nowhere near shelter. I had not brought bear spray and I had no other weapon than my tripod (which, to be fair, is quite bulky).

I did not feel safe in that moment, and I quickly found that I had lost my appetite for photography and wanted to once again be near to humans.

So I made my way back south. Back over the rocky coastline, and back towards the Hole in the Wall. I continued to take some photos here and there, but didn’t really slow down until I started to see the campers again. I also started to see more day-trippers, some of whom lifted my mood as I tried to take photos of them walking in the fog.

Rialto Beach from the north

Spectres of the coast

Parting Thoughts

I don’t want to give the wrong impression here.

I greatly enjoyed my trip out to the Olympic Coast. I loved the places I visited and relished the challenges and rewards of photography in such a unique area. I am very proud of some of the photos I got - in particular the golden sunshine photos from my previous post.

I got to try my hand at photography in two very different weather situations (harsh sunlight and heavy fog), I tried out some new equipment (ball head, ND filters) and I felt refreshed when I returned home.

But it was also the first time that I had camped alone. I had driven about 4 hours to La Push, and while there were plenty of other people in the popular spots and in the town of Forks, I didn’t really speak to anyone on this trip. Most of the time I didn’t have cell phone service.

I was perfectly safe the vast majority of the time - but I think when I go on a solo trip like this in the future I will be sure to pack bear spray and perhaps a knife. These things, while they don’t remove all risk from hiking in a remote place, will at least put my mind a little more at ease if I find myself alone.

I also learned that I don’t actually need to find total solitude in an absolutely remote place. I don’t need to camp 20 miles into the mountains (or forest, or desert) by myself. I certainly want to feel more comfortable being in the outdoors, and I want to prove to myself that I can take care of myself in the wild, but I don’t need to push myself to any extremes.

I’ll be going on many more photography trips in the near future - including hopefully to Mount Baker in the Cascades, the Palouse in eastern Washington, and maybe a trip down to the orange rock of Arizona or Utah.

This trip, with its challenges, rewards, and moments of fear, made me feel more alive than anything had in a very, very long time - and I want more of that feeling.

Thanks for reading.