When Louie became Bluey
Diablo Lake, Washington
Trying something new! 🎙️ For those of you who prefer listening over reading, I’ve recorded this story so you can take it on the go. This is an experiment, so let me know—do you like this format? Want more of it? Have suggestions? Drop a comment and share your thoughts!
Ever since our first visit to Diablo Lake years ago, a vision had been seared into my mind: me, paddleboarding on those impossibly turquoise waters, gliding effortlessly like some Pacific Northwest explorer. Maybe even a dramatic dive into the glacier-fed abyss—icy, electric blue, and daring me to take the plunge like an overconfident action hero of an adventure documentary.
Fast forward to today: same lake, same dreams… and the same Lebanese survival instincts that say, ‘Why risk hypothermia when you can just admire the view?
Day 1: The wind had other plans
We rolled into Newhalem Creek Campground around 2 PM, ready to soak up a short but fun weekend escape. After a quick lunch, we stretched our legs with a walk along the creek, where we stumbled upon an apple tree. Of course, I had to try one—it was either going to be delicious or poison, but what’s life without a little gamble? Verdict: pretty good. No immediate regrets.
With spirits high, we drove to Diablo Lake, only to be greeted by a crowd (so much for solitude) and a howling wind that instantly crushed my paddleboarding aspirations. The water was a churning, icy-blue monster, daring me to try. I took one look at it, imagined myself being blown across the lake like a lost kayaker in a survival documentary, and quietly backed down. Ma fi chi! Maybe next time.
Louie, however, had zero concerns. He charged into the freezing water with the enthusiasm of someone who doesn’t know what hypothermia is, then emerged and immediately did mud zoomies—a full-speed chaos sprint, covering everything in a layer of questionable mud. It was a proud moment.
Back at the campground, as we were parking, we noticed a girl staring at us intensely—not in a creepy way, but in a "trying to piece together a crime scene through the glare of our windshield" kind of way. Alizée side-eyed me, "Do you know her?" I had no clue, but I had a theory. My last name was boldly plastered on the campsite placard—practically a neon sign for the rare, mythical Lebanese roaming the Pacific Northwest. "She’s probably Lebanese and intrigued," I said. "You should go talk to her!"
Alizée squinted at me. "And say what?"
"I don’t know, improvise! If I go out, she’s going to think I’m trying to hit on her."
Before we could formulate a game plan, the girl suddenly cartwheeled away. Yes, full commitment, legs in the air. We stared, dumbfounded. Was that her exit? A power move? A secret Lebanese handshake we weren’t aware of?
Minutes later, she was back—this time with a friend and a trash bag, still staring. "This is your shot," I whispered. Alizée, now thoroughly invested, strutted out there like a diplomat at a high-stakes summit. I joined a few moments later, and that’s how we met Nicole, the Lebanese expat who had studied in Atlanta and somehow found herself in Seattle, still defying expectations (and gravity).
Lebanese fate works in mysterious, gymnastic ways.
Day 2: A hike to remember and Louie’s temporary rebrand
We kicked off Sunday bright and early with a drive to Thunder Knob Trail, a hike we’d done before with Alizée’s parents. The morning light made everything feel crisp and fresh, like nature’s version of a reset button. At the summit, we paused for a snack, took in the stunning lake views, and struck up a chat with a very friendly couple who were road-tripping from California—freshly evacuated from the Banff wildfires, which made our little weekend getaway feel embarrassingly tame in comparison. They were struggling to snap a picture of themselves and their dog, so I jumped in to help. In return, they insisted on taking one of us, but somehow misheard Louie’s name as “Bluey” and spent the entire photoshoot dramatically calling out, “Bluey! Bluey, look here!” Louie, oblivious, continued his dignified ignorance of human commands, while Alizée and I tried not to burst out laughing at our newly rebranded dog. At this point, I’m half tempted to get him a blue collar just to make it official.
With the weekend winding down, we hit the road back to Seattle, stopping for a late lunch at Costco (sushi, of all things). Because nothing says “outdoor adventure” like grabbing a tray of mass-produced raw fish at a wholesale warehouse. 10/10, no regrets.
Final thoughts: the paddleboard will have to wait
Diablo Lake was as stunning as ever, but the wind had other plans for me. Maybe it was just nature’s way of keeping the dream alive for another trip. Maybe the water was always too cold, and I was never actually going to swim. Either way, Louie lived his best life, we met another Lebanese traveler, and we left with the usual mix of muddy paws, happy memories, and plans to return.
Next time, paddleboarding. Probably. Maybe. Yalla, bye.