Webbed feet are a Western Washington state of mind, not body

When they head outdoors, folks simply assume it's going to rain -- and so what.

N.S. NOKKENTVED

Originally published October 2, 2001

One of my first outings on returning to Western Washington earlier this year was a long walk at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. And of course, it rained.

From my window here at The Olympian, I can watch the weather roll in over the Black Hills. Recently I watched a line of approaching rain walk across town and advance up the hill toward the building here. Soon the windows were streaming.

And I remember that day back in August, when we set a new record for rainfall for the month -- mostly in a single day. All that rain made me think about the reputation of people from Western Washington having webbed feet.

When I left Washington 13 years ago, I moved to southern Idaho, a region that gets 12 inches of precipitation -- in a good year. I heard lots of jokes about being from Washington and having webbed feet. I would laugh and go along with the joke. But my feet don't look any different from anyone else's -- OK, not significantly different. I don't have actual webs between my toes.

Sitting back here in Washington again and watching it rain, I realize that the webbed feet thing is an attitude.

Some of the wettest places in the country are in Western Washington: The average annual rainfall in Forks is around 150 inches -- more than 12 feet.

People here typically take all that rain in stride. No one lets a little rain intrude on plans for outdoor activities. You just keep your hiking boots well-greased and carry a poncho or rain jacket in the pack -- or invest in Gore-Tex.

When they head outdoors, folks simply assume it's going to rain -- and so what. Then when the sun comes out it's like a bonus. In fact, sometimes it seems like people here don't know how to act in the outdoors when the sun comes out.

All that rain just cleans the air and makes things grow. You have to watch those blackberry brambles; they'll take over your house if you turn your back too long.

With proper rain gear, there's nothing like a long walk in the woods in a real downpour. Perhaps it comes naturally to me, being of Scandinavian vintage. Back in the old country people say there's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes. A small flask of antifreeze in the pack doesn't hurt either.

But on my hike around the wildlife refuge earlier this year, I had neglected to take the threat of rain seriously. I was about halfway around when the rain started, and the umbrella I carried was useless in the gusty wind. I had no choice but to keep going. Either way I was going to get wet.

Along the way I encountered a group of Boy Scouts -- all properly attired in ponchos and rain suits -- watching an eagle's nest across McAllister Creek. I was tempted to stop and look. But then another gust of wind blew in more rain. I pulled my hat down to fend off the wind.

By the time I got back to the car, I was soaking wet. But I learned my lesson -- now, like a good Scout, I always have a rain jacket and pants in the car. The next step is to learn to carry them with me.

N.S. Nokkentved covers the outdoors for The Olympian. He can be reached at 360-754-5445.

The Olympian Copyright 2001

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