The First Time I Laid My Eyes upon Mount Rainier

I’ll never forget the moment I stepped outside the Fort Lewis barracks door and saw Mount Rainier on the horizon for the very first time.

I’d been brought into the base the night before, fresh off the Ranger Indoctrination Program. It was first time ever in Washington,Northwest Nomad sitting on a rock with Mount Rainier in background. but I’d been dreaming of going there for years. Being an outdoorsman, and also being a product of the 90s grunge generation, the state was almost a mythic place to me. There was no way, however, to be prepared for the awe-inspiring sight that is Mount Rainier.
I’m not alone in this. I’ve talked to many people who told me that the first time they saw Mount Rainier was practically a religious experience.

From that moment on, I knew the Pacific Northwest was my home. One could even say the Northwest Nomad was born that day.

Nearly 15 years later, and still there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t look at the mountain in awe and gratitude. This excludes the many days when it’s not visible at all (which as we Northwesterners know is pretty damn common), but when it’s out, I’m as in love with it now as ever before.

So, here’s just a little letter of appreciation to the mountain. I’ll never forget ye, nor the day I first laid eyes upon you.

Anybody else out there in the ether remember the first time they saw Rainier? Got a story to tell? Please do.

Lake Quinault in Winter: Introvert’s Delight

Mosses cover the deep forest, blanketing rocks and fallen trees, clinging to the living spruces and firs like babies embracing their mothers. In some places a pale-green, stringy species dangles from branches like clots of witch hair. The vast, living coat absorbs sound and leaves the whole area in a hush. This is Lake Quinault in winter, and there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.

Lake Quinault in winter barely resembles its summer self, when tourists fill the area. In winter, the rain almost never stops. There are windows of sunlight here and there, always brief and always glorious, but for the most part it’s a persistently gray time. The upside of that is a region left in solitude and silence, perfect for those who yearn for those things as a break from modern life.

The hiking can be a slog. At times, it can be downright sloppy. But, the slog and slop keeps everyone else away, and even a short hike will leave you feeling like the whole of the rain forest is yours’ and the animals’ alone.

The Irely Lake trail, a short trek usually full of hikers in summertime, leaves you feeling continents away from the modern world. The trail is frequently flooded and blocked by fallen tree — great for keeping out the halfhearted. I’ve had conversations with trees there, and there wasn’t a single person (other than myself) to call me crazy for doing it.

You don’t even need to get on the trails, really. Very few people drive the “loop,” which is what I (and presumably others; it’s not all that unique or creative of a moniker, after all) call the North Shore and South Shore roads that will take you in a complete circle around the lake and a good portion of the river feeding into it.

Merriman Falls after a hard rain, just off South Shore Road.
Merriman Falls, right off the side of South Shore Road, part of the Lake Quinault Loop.

You can simply drive out along the road, park your car, and walk that. That’s nice way to do it, really, because the river adds a pleasant musical backdrop. There are also many things to see right off the road, including Merriman Falls and the Roosevelt elk.

My favorite place to stay in the area is the Quinault River Inn, but that’s just my personal preference. The Lake Quinault Lodge is a beautiful building with the best views of the lake.

No matter where you go, you’ll find a quiet place, perfect for silencing that mental cacophony that’s been driving you batty.

If you find yourself somewhere along the Irely Lake trail talking to trees, please tell them the Northwest Nomad said “hello.”

Northwest Nuggets Series: Nirvana’s Polly and the Creepy Story of Gerald Friend

The story of Gerald Friend, which inspired Nirvana’s “Polly,” isn’t a pleasant one. In fact, it’s downright disturbing.

In June of 1987, a 14-year-old girl was walking home from a concert at the Tacoma Dome when a stranger pulled his car over and offered her a ride. The girl accepted. There was no way for her to know she was getting into a car with a monster, but she would quickly find out.

The stranger’s name was Gerald Friend. He pulled a knife on the girl and took her to his mobile home. Once there, he tied her hands to a pulley attached to his ceiling. Over the course of the ensuing days, he raped and tortured her repeatedly.

Eventually the victim escaped. While Friend stopped at a gas station, she broke free from the vehicle and got help. The next day police pulled Friend over for a traffic violation. They recognized him and arrested him for the abduction.

Saddest of all in this story is that Gerald Friend shouldn’t have been on the streets to begin with. The 14-year-old girl hadn’t been his first victim.

The story of Gerald Friend and his debauchery had actually started 27 years before that Tacoma Dome attack, in July of 1960, in the town of Sumner a little ways outside of Tacoma. It was there that Gerald Friend kidnapped a 12-year-old girl while she was hitchhiking with her brother.

Friend assaulted the girl sexually, beat her, and cut her hair. The victim managed to escape and jumped into a river.

Friend hid in a field near his house. His father eventually discovered him. After a scuffle, Friend was injured and taken to a hospital, where he was arrested.

Gerald Friend was sentenced to 75 years in prison after his first attack, but he was paroled early in 1980, despite the violence of his first offense and despite two escapes. Seven years later, he took his second victim, a 14-year-old kid just trying to get home after a show.

After Friend’s second crime, he was sentenced to finish his original 75 year sentence, with another 75 year sentence on top of it. None of that helps his victims or changes the fact that Friend shouldn’t have been on the loose to begin with when he took that second victim. The girl later sued the state for the early parole.

Kurt Cobain read about Gerald Friend and his second victim in a local newspaper. From that story, he wrote the song “Polly.”

Cobain was no stranger to Tacoma, either. While he is primarily associated today with Aberdeen and Seattle, Cobain played quite a few gigs in Tacoma.

It was in Tacoma, in fact, that Nirvana first played under the name Nirvana. Previously they’d called themselves Ted Ed Fred, Skid Row, and Fecal Matter. They first used the name Nirvana in a place called the World Community Theater, which lasted only about a year but hosted many big acts of the era.

“Polly” makes no bones about what it’s meant to be. The song is catchy but also creepy and morose. Knowing that it narrates a true story only makes it more disturbing.

The song’s horrific backstory seems somewhat odd, really, considering that Cobain was so outspoken about women’s rights and about compassion. Years later, Cobain was deeply disturbed to hear that two men raped a girl while singing “Polly” to her.

What, exactly, inspired Cobain to write a song about someone who must have disgusted him is unclear, but the creative mind is a multifaceted thing. Besides, there’s obviously something compelling enough to have kept people listening nearly 30 years later.


This is part of my Northwest Nuggets series.

Northwest Nuggets Series: Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle

Seattle, Washington, is well known as the birthplace of both Starbucks and Jimi Hendrix, the home of airline manufacturing giant Boeing, and the mecca of international hipsterdom (spell check says this not a word…but it lies).

Seattle is also the resting place of Bruce Lee, the residence of The Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, and the home of beloved Pike Place Market (a little-known feature of which is a large outdoor wall covered in brightly-colored wads of chewing gum, known simply as, well, the gum wall).

Lesser known, perhaps, is the fact that Seattle is also the birthplace of Frances Farmer, a woman whose talent and beauty were overshadowed only by tragedy. Famed critic Roger Ebert once declared that she might have been one of the all-time great actresses, if only she hadn’t been so unlucky.

Farmer was born on September 19, 1913, in Seattle, Washington. From an early age she proved to be a stubborn, free-thinking spirit who many people found troubling to deal with. She won a writing award at West Seattle High School for an essay titled “God Dies,” a rather controversial title and subject for a teenager to take on in 1931 America.

She also worked her way through school at the University of Washington, despite being the daughter of a prominent lawyer. In 1935 she won a contest with the leftist newspaper The Voice of Action. The prize was a trip to the Soviet Union, which she accepted in order to attend the Moscow Art Theatre. Again, this was a controversial move in that time and many people branded her communist.

After returning from her Soviet Union trip, this young woman, bursting with confidence, stopped in New York to audition as an actress, and was signed on the spot with Paramount. From there, the stage was set for a fairytale story of success. However, things never quite worked out that way.

Frances Farmer was an achingly beautiful woman with enormous talent. She was also extremely intelligent, individualistic, and hot tempered. She resisted the studio’s attempts to control her and refused to use her personal life as a promotional tool.

She regularly dressed down in frumpy clothes and no makeup, and steered away from Hollywood parties. If she’d been in a different time, or maybe of a different sex in her time, then she could very well have become an outlaw, a countercultural icon.

Unfortunately, she was not born in a different time, or a different sex. Her willful, brash, and erratic behavior was not becoming of a lady in the ’30s and ’40s, and certainly not of a movie star. So, rather than being lauded for her courage, passion, and integrity, she was increasingly branded crazy.

In January 1943 she was arrested for the first time for failing to pay a fine for a driving violation. Simultaneously, charges were leveled that she dislocated a hairdresser’s jaw while working on a movie set.

In court, she accused the police of violating her civil rights and demanded an attorney. She also threw an inkwell at the judge, which probably accounts for her sentencing to 180 days in jail.

Considering that Farmer was asking for her Constitutionally-guaranteed right to an attorney and was not getting it, one must ask the question if the throwing of an inkwell is really so difficult to understand. Regardless, the incident landed her in the Kimball Sanitarium in La Crescenta, California, where she was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and given insulin shock therapy.

From that point on, Farmer’s life was spent getting into and out of various forms of trouble with the psychiatric industry, the law, and the movie studios. She was also said to be an alcoholic. But, considering the trouble she suffered through her years, one has to wonder if the alcoholism was the cause of any of her problems, or the result.

In the end, Frances Farmer died of esophageal cancer, leaving behind a legacy of unrealized talent and tragedy, which was immortalized by Jessica Lange’s incredible performance in the 1982 film Frances.

Cobain’s lyrics in “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle” are characteristically ambiguous and enigmatic, but not so much that the song’s meaning is hard to discern. Having been one who also struggled with fame and societal norms, he seems to be saying that he simply wants to be left alone to be who he is and feel what he feels, regardless of how others think about it.

The connection with Frances Farmer is pretty easy to see. They were both passionate, talented, sensitive souls who had ways of seeing life that were very different from the mass of society.

“France Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle” was included on 1993’s In Utero, Nirvana’s third and final studio album, released less than a year before Cobain’s suicide. Cobain wanted to title the album I Hate Myself and I Want to Die as a joke, but was talked out of it due to fears that it could lead to lawsuits.

The album reached No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard 200, UK albums chart, and the Swedish Sverigetopplistan. It climbed near the top of the charts in several other nations, as well.

In the year that was 1993, angst was in style. It was cool to be cynical and to resist the corporatization of the world. Dressing in ragged clothes and railing against authority wasn’t just allowed for celebrities, it was expected.

Looking at it now, maybe Frances Farmer was just born in the wrong time. Maybe she would have done much better in 1990s Seattle.



This post is part of my Northwest Nuggets series. It originally appeared in

Northwest Nuggets Series: Something in the Way in Aberdeen, Washington

Aberdeen, Washington, once went by such auspicious titles as The Hellhole of the Pacific and The Port of Missing Men. Founded in 1884, the city was known in its early years as a place of whorehouses, dice, whiskey, and murder.

A notable resident was Billy “Ghoul” Gohl, who may have killed as many as 140 people between 1902 and 1910. This cheery fellow was only officially found guilty of two 1909 homicides, and eventually died in 1927 in Walla Walla State Penitentiary of health problems, including syphilis.

Clearly, those early Aberdeen days marked the city for great things.

By the time Kurt Cobain was born in Gray’s Harbor Hospital in Aberdeen on February 20, 1967, the city’s moniker had been changed to The Gateway to the Olympic Peninsula. Though cast in the near-perpetual shadow and fog of that part of Washington State, it had evolved into a small town not wholly unlike any other small town in America.

The way that Cobain has spoken of it, however, Aberdeen is a much more hopeless place.

Describing Aberdeen as “Twin Peaks without the excitement” (referring to the TV show), Cobain spoke of the town almost entirely as a source of neglect, fear, and sadness. The contentious relationship between Cobain and his hometown was hardly a one-sided one.

The city itself abstained from recognizing their former pop-rock-revolutionary-superstar-grunge-counterculture icon for years. They acquiesced and made an official gesture of acknowledgment towards Cobain only in 2005, 11 years after his death, when an article by three local teens in the Aberdeen Daily World prompted the posting of a sign outside the city reading “Come As You Are,” in reference to the Nirvana song by the same name. In early 2014, the city also announced that February 20 would be declared the official Kurt Cobain Day; they also built a park named Kurt Cobain’s Landing.

It would be interesting to hear Cobain’s thoughts on having Aberdeen declare a day in his honor. Nirvana’s first rehearsals were held in the city, but the band never actually played there, and Cobain wanted to get out as quickly as possible. Most of his statements about the place – those that have been recorded and related to the public, anyway – did not indicate happy times.

Cobain’s earliest years seemed relatively normal, but he started becoming increasingly depressed and alienated after his parents divorced when he was seven years old. By the time he reached high school, he was so fed up with the people around him that he would pretend he was gay in hopes that he’d be left alone.

He dropped out of school in his sophomore year, after he discovered that he didn’t have enough credits to graduate. His mother told him to find a job or leave, so he left. This was when he started wandering around Aberdeen, sleeping on friend’s couches and in hospital waiting rooms, and sometimes hanging out under a bridge over the Wishkah River.

There is debate over whether or not Cobain really lived under the bridge. Cobain claimed he had, but Nirvana bassist Kurt Novoselic and biographer Charles Cross have each stated that doing so would have been impossible. The fluctuating levels of the Wishkah likely would have swept him away, and the muddy banks made the spot uninhabitable.

Regardless of its myth or exact fact, Cobain’s time under the bridge became a part not only of his personal mythology, but of the emotional mythology his fans have built around him. Also part of fandom’s mythology is that “Something in the Way” deals, at least partly, with the time that Cobain spent under that Aberdeen bridge.

The lyrics to the song are so ambiguous and surreal that any precise factual meaning is probably impossible to prove, and it’s very likely that one was never intended, anyway. That’s very rarely how creativity works. Still, in plumbing the depths of Cobain’s myth, the story connecting the Aberdeen bridge with the bridge in “Something in the Way” has taken on its own life. Its emotional reality has eclipsed any concerns of historical veracity.

Cobain wrote “Something in the Way” in 1990. Nirvana first performed it on November 25, 1990, at Seattle’s Off Ramp Café. While recording the song for Nirvana’s mega-album Nevermind in 1991, Cobain was unhappy with the sound. After repeated failed attempts to nail it, he ended up lying on a couch, strumming his guitar, and mumbling the lyrics so low that producer Butch Vig had to bring the microphones close and turn off all other sources of background noise to hear it. Dave Grohl and Novoselic added their parts later, as did Kirk Canning, who added a cello line. This unorthodox method undoubtedly lent to its strange, unique sound.

Nevermind, of course, went on to alter the course of music history and explode planets. It has since reached Diamond status in the United States and multi-times platinum and gold in several other countries.

“Something in the Way” was never released as a single and doesn’t jump out to casual listeners the way that classics “Lithium,” “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” or “Come as You Are” do.

But for many, “Something in the Way” is emblematic of Nirvana’s spirit. The song is a beating heart viewed through grimy, mud-streaked lenses, a song of ennui deriving its power from the certainty that there is something else, something brighter, lying underneath the surface.

There might be something in the way, but the fact that this anguish is even being sung indicates that there’s life on the other side. It’s a difficult message, but it’s one that resonated powerfully with an entire generation of youth. It might not be pretty, but it’s real, and in the rosy convolutions of the ’90s United States of America, reality was increasingly difficult to come by.

Looking back, it’s very poetic to think of the song originating in the lonely musings of a young man living under a bridge in Aberdeen, Washington. Whether or not that’s how it actually happened, and whether or not that’s what the song is really talking about, the association has become part of the mythology.

It’s a touchstone to everything that drew hordes of alienated youth to the band in the first place, and it’s hard to imagine a more fitting image to go with the tune.


This piece of part of the Northeast Nomad Northwest Nuggets series.

This piece originally appeared in Songplaces.