The next stop on our journey brings us back to Kalaloch, Washington—a place woven into the fabric of my childhood. I’ve been coming here with my grandparents since I was about four years old. Back then, we always camped in the same spot, B-11, like it was reserved just for us. We spent a week here every summer, long after my grandparents could no longer make the trip. We kept coming anyway, drawn back by the Tree of Life, long talks around the campfire, nature walks, and day trips to the beautiful Lake Quinault Lodge and the always-stunning Lake Crescent.
This most recent trip was only the second time we’ve stayed in a cabin, and it brought a flood of nostalgia. The last time, the boys were still in their footy pajamas, tiny enough to both fit on the futon with their Mickey Mouses, fat-cheeked and sound asleep after their bottles of milk. So much has changed between that visit and now. The staircase to the beach has been washed away—eaten by the ocean. The bank has eroded a little more with every storm. And in March 2024, the National Park Service removed ten cabins due to accelerating coastal erosion and safety concerns. Still, Kalaloch Lodge remains a haven. The cabins that remain offer the charm and comforts you hope for in an oceanfront escape—some with fireplaces, kitchenettes, and that cozy bedding that makes you want to curl up and listen to the waves. The main lodge holds ten rooms, and just below it is the Creekside Restaurant, where the burger and the chowder are my forever two favorites. Even the tiny store is packed with charm, serving espresso that rivals anything in Seattle. In summer, you can find everything you need for s’mores—marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars—as well as matches, firewood, campfire popcorn, postcards home… all the perfect little touches you expect from a resort store that hasn’t lost its soul.The cabin we stayed in this time was sadly one of those torn down last March. But before its removal, it had been perfect—an ocean view, a fireplace, a full kitchen, a private bedroom, and another bed in the main living area. Outside sat a picnic table and fire ring, ideal for roasting hot dogs and s’mores while listening to the waves crash against the sand. We stayed two nights—never enough when it comes to Kalaloch. We biked the campground, wandered from our beach to the Tree of Life, and hiked down to Ruby Beach at golden hour. Pure magic.
I get territorial about Kalaloch, like it’s my own secret home and part of me doesn’t want anyone else to love it the way I do. On our last evening, when I closed my eyes, I could almost hear my grandparents’ voices again—like I was back in our old tent listening to Hank Williams playing on the tape deck while they played cribbage by the glow of a kerosene lamp. That kind of memory lives forever here.
I’m already looking forward to returning next summer. But getting a cabin in peak season has become extremely difficult with ten of the cabins now gone. So pack your patience—check every day for cancellations, just like we did last spring. You never know when luck will strike. And trust me, Kalaloch is pure magic. When you finally land a cabin for a night or two, every bit of effort will have been worth it.
