On a warm summer afternoon near Lake Quinault in Washington's Olympic National Park, I stepped out of the rainforest and straight toward the water. Behind me, the trail dripped in old man's beard moss, and cedar shadows and sword ferns crisscrossed the path. Ahead, the lake opened wide beneath the Olympic foothills, its surface catching the light in a way that made the whole valley feel calmer than it had any right to be during peak tourist season.