The Hoh River - An excerpt from Steelhead River Journal
The rocks were void of moss and all the slippery stuff that makes deep wading so difficult on most rivers.
The silty, glacial water scours like a Brillo Pad. Still, I had to contend with the current, which was much stronger than it first appeared from the road. That, and the fact the visibility in the frigid, glacial river was only two or three feet. Once I was in over my knees, foot placement became very tricky. It was my first encounter with the Olympic Peninsula's famous Hoh River.
I spotted a classic looking steelhead drift from the road, parked my car, bushwhacked my way to the water, and within 15 minutes began casting a 300-grain Teeny Nymph Line in a classic, down-and-across fashion.
Cast. .. strip ... cast. One step downstream, and repeat. Once I got my rhythm down, the repetition kind of took over, and my mind started to wander elsewhere. I believe I was in Alaska when my rod tip began throbbing under the weight of a feisty steelhead.
One, two, three times the fish jumped. And then again ... and again and, I lost track of the jumps. It was a chrome-bright summer fish, probably around eight or nine pounds, and it was doing its darndest to shake my fly.
The wild, tail-walking antics were followed by incredible runs that twice threatened to strip me clean. Both times I was forced to run awkwardly across the rocks downstream, in a race that I would surely have lost if steelhead could reason such things.
But eventually the fish came to hand and I knelt there staring at it in the water for the longest time. In my mind, there is little that can compare with the beauty of a steelhead. It doesn't matter much if it's a silvery fish fresh from the sea, or one that's been in the river for awhile. I am always awed by the steelhead' s beauty. On this fish, the radiant coral tints covering the gill plates almost seemed to glow.
My fingers grew numb while holding the fish in the icy water, and with its strength fully recovered, the native steelhead shot from my grasp, disappearing back into the depths of the silty river. I sat in the rocks for awhile and just watched the water, content.
The homestead site of John Huelsdonk, "The Iron Man of the Hoh," as seen while floating the Upper Hoh River. The original homestead burned down in 1935.
It's easy to just sit and watch a river, and the Hoh is my favorite river to just sit and watch. I watch the water flow by and imagine its meandering journey from its beginnings, deep within the Olympic Mountains.
The Hoh River is born on the flanks of Mt. Olympus, the Olympic Peninsula's highest peak and the heart of the Olympic National Park. There is a certain security with a river whose source is in a protected area, such as a national park. The giant, untouched trees within the park's boundaries, some of the largest in the world, are protected from the devastating clearcuts found just outside that invisible line. It's nice to know that at least the headwaters of such a beautiful river are protected from the ravages of man.
The Hoh River is made up of three main branches. The North Fork, which is fed by Mt. Tom Glacier, Tom and Glacier creeks, (Tom Creek is often called the "Middle Fork" of the Hoh) and the South Fork, fed by Humes Glacier. The river is also joined by several smaller streams as it travels its 50 or so miles to the Pacific Ocean. For much of its journey the river flows through the Hoh Rain Forest, one of the few temperate rain forests in the world.
To see the upper reaches of the rain forest you must walk there. From the end of the Upper Hoh Road, near the Rain Forest Visitors Center, an often traveled and maintained trail follows the river valley all the way to the flanks of Olympus, some 18 miles distant. To say the scenery along the way is spectacular is an understatement.
From the park boundary down to the mouth there are several access points for anglers, both drifters and bank fishermen. This is a very popular river and when it's in shape anglers seem to come out of the woodwork to fish its bountiful waters. The target species are mostly steelhead and salmon, which return in respectable numbers, all things considered.
Just before emptying into the sea, the river travels through the Hoh Indian Reservation, a small parcel of land near the mouth. Long before the coming of the white man, natives relied heavily on the Hoh's generous bounty for survival.
Brightly colored steelhead flies.
If this river could talk, what tales the Hoh would have about its journey from start' to finish. Over the past two years I have spent a good dal of time on, in, and around the Hoh. I have walked the distance to Mt. Olympus and have floated every inch of navigable water, from inside the National Park boundary to the mouth. I have seen the many faces of the Hoh, from its gentle summer flow to the tempestuous torrents of winter floods.
Each time I return to the river and wade out into a familiar run, content overcomes my being. And when it's time to leave there is a tug, a force trying to keep me there. The Hoh River means many things to many people. For me, a prettier river would be hard to find, and the thought of a wild Hoh steelhead jumping with my fly in its mouth sends a shiver up my spine.
History of the Hoh River
The Hoh River Valley is rich in history. The fertile valley attracted white settlers as early as the 1890s. But long before the white man's arrival, natives, a band of the Quileutes from further north, inhabited this part of the coast. Today there are roughly one hundred Indians living on the Hoh Indian Reservation located on the south side of the river near the mouth.
Many settlers came to this area, but only a few stayed. Among those who stayed are the Andersons, Fletchers and the Huelsdonks. Descendants of these families still live along the Hoh River today.
Many settlers were driven from the valley when land they cleared was suddenly eaten by a relentless river in flood stage. This river is constantly changing course as it works its way down the valley. With each flood, and there are several each season, new channels are formed, while others are left high and dry. You get a real sense of the power involved when you flo'at the Hoh and witness huge, old-growth trees that were uprooted during flood and scattered around the river banks like toys.
Probably the most widely known of the early settlers is John Huelsdonk, "The Iron Man of the Hoh." He was born in Voerde, Germany in 1867, and in 1880 came to America with his parents, grandparents, and six brothers and sisters. The family lived in Iowa for ten years before John and his brothers headed west. Somehow they ended up on the Olympic Peninsula and filed homestead claims along the Hoh River. They then returned to Iowa to bring back the rest of the family. John also brought a wife, Dora, from Germany.
The nickname "The Iron Man of the Hoh" was given John by journalists who were amazed at the strength of this man. The legend goes that John packed a kitchen cookstove on his back to his homestead cabin on the south side of the upper Hoh. When asked by a passerby if the stove wasn't a bit heavy, his reply was, "Oh, I don't mind the stove, it's the hundred-pound sack of flour shifting around in the oven that's giving me trouble." John never affirmed or denied the story, but once when asked if it was true, his reply was, "you will have to ask the man who met me on the trail."
The original homestead cabin was destroyed by fire in 1935. John built a new house on the same site and it can be seen today standing on a parcel of cleared ground as one floats the upper Hoh.
Early pioneers to the Hoh Valley relied on the land for their food. All the settlers had big gardens for their vegetables. For meat they utilized elk, deer, bear, cougar, grouse, and fish. Provisions other than what they could get from the land were packed over a rough trail leading to the Hoh Valley from the town of Forks to the north. Items like salt, flour, sugar, kerosene and any other staple needed were brought in on the backs of these hardy, devoted settlers. From the Huelsdonk homestead this was a twenty-two-mile trek.
After the settlers came the loggers. The Olympic Peninsula hosted some of the finest stands of timber in the world. Logging became a very big business. During World War I, the federal government built spruce camps in the area, building roads, improving rail transportation and constructing mills. The Hoh River produced some of the best spruce around which was used by the government to build airplanes. The war ended, but the logging, of course, continued.
If you look on most maps you will see "Oil City" marked at the mouth of the Hoh. There is no city here. In the early 1900s petroleum exploration took place near the Jefferson Oil Seep, just to the north of the mouth of the Hoh. The name "Oil City" came about during the 1930s when the area was plotted and sold in anticipation of a major oil discovery. Between 1931 and 1937, eleven wells were drilled at the Jefferson Oil Seep, but oil was never discovered. The remains of the operation has been swallowed up over the years by the thick coastal vegetation.
The completion of the Olympic Loop Highway (Hwy. 101) opened up the Olympic Peninsula in a big way. Commerce and recreation boomed. It was in 1932 when Governor Roland Hartley cut the ribbon dedicating the bridge across the Hoh, the last obstacle in the completion of the highway.
