The mouth of the Queets. Is it the shortest wildest river in Washington? Is it the most remarkable rainforest river of all? Irrespective of the answer, it is certainly remarkable. By some fluke of historic land preservation, the wild banks of the Queets were nearly protected from the incursion of the big saws almost to the mouth. It's not to say that the watershed wasn't cut-over: quite the contrary, the Queets was treated poorly, just like them all. But along the banks? Big Spruce reach nearly to the mouth.
And north of where this short but sacred river reaches the Pacific, the largest pile of driftwood and logs I know of sits, slowly expanding, huge trees joining the jumble and ever so slowly building a steep, cobble beach. Here big rocks are piled on old logs (with the odd bit of marine detritus, and old boat or two, and even a few growing trees here and there), balanced after each big storm or high tide, pushed up from the ocean and mixed with the discharge of every new flood. The Queets is a special river, from high subalpine meadows, through the channels watched by the Valhallas, to deep rainforest glades with towering Spruce and Fir, to the log choked junction with the wild eastern shore of the ocean. Oh Queets, you may be short, but you are the essence of wild!
This link to the Queets streamflow gauge is fun to watch when a big Pacific storm blows in:
http://water.weather.gov/ahps2/hydrograph.php?wfo=sew&gage=quew1&view=1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1
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