Another Day at Tahuya

Tahuya Gatekeeper

Tahuya Parking/ Staging area

Another Weekend at Tahuya ORV

Tahuya ORV. Again.
Because it’s close, it’s familiar, and it’s honest terrain.

This trip was partly recreational, partly instructional. My wife had never seen our son’s Toyota work through rocks in real conditions, and I wanted her to see what these rigs actually do—slow, technical, and unforgiving. The weekend before, we’d taken about six inches of rain at home. Tahuya likely got eight to ten. Water was everywhere.

Tahuya isn’t a mud park. It’s trees, roots, rock gardens, and tight lines that punish bad decisions. Wet conditions just amplify everything.

Staging and First Contact

The main staging area was packed, so we rolled into a secondary entrance with more room. That entrance has a rocky gatekeeper—nothing extreme, but enough to make new passengers uneasy.

My wife doesn’t come from an off-road background. Drag racing family. Straight lines. Predictable forces. This was different. Thirty seconds in, the Jeep pitched and twisted and tossed her around. She wasn’t thrilled—but she was paying attention. That matters.

Into the Trees

We worked our way through tight forest sections. Standing water, slick roots, uneven rock, and narrow lines where mirrors and doors matter. The forest was in good shape—cleaner than it used to be. Most people were packing out what they brought in, which is good to see.

Then we heard air brakes.

Not metaphorical. Actual air brakes.

A military 6x6 was wedged between trees coming the other direction. Massive truck. Zero room. No business being there, but impressive nonetheless. We followed for a short stretch until they found a pull-off and let us pass. Watching that rig navigate those trails made everything else feel small.

New Blood

At a trail split, a guy jumped out of a brand-new Toyota Tacoma and asked if he and his wife could tag along. New to wheeling. One tow strap. That was it.

I looked the truck over—rear e-locker, decent clearance, stock everything else. Better equipped than my Jeep in some ways, honestly. Then I noticed the paper plates.

Brand new. Straight from the dealer to the woods.

We let them run with us. Everyone starts somewhere.

They did better than expected through the tight stuff. Careful. Slow. Listening.

Yellowjacket Hill

We reached Yellowjacket Hill. Wet. Slick. Logs half-buried. This is where things usually go sideways.

They wisely stayed back.

Our son staged his Toyota at the base and started the climb. The rocks were greasy, traction inconsistent. He worked it, but the hill wasn’t giving anything up. Leif and I moved a few rocks, spotted, tried different lines.

A built Jeep walked it. Another Toyota failed. Someone blamed us for moving rocks. Everyone laughed. Standard Tahuya politics.

Buggy Hill and the Call

On the way toward Buggy Hill, Tommy tried a short rock garden and high-centered—both differentials hung, all four tires spinning. We rocked it, stacked stones, and got him free.

That was the call. Enough for the day.

We rolled to the base of Buggy Hill, took a look, and turned around.

Exit Lessons

Coming back through the gatekeeper, the Tacoma took its first real hits. Smashed a tailpipe. Ripped a mudflap. Minor damage.

Leif was grinning like a kid.

That’s the moment. That’s why people wheel. Not the flex photos. Not the builds. The moment when you realize the truck can do more than you thought—and you’re willing to accept the consequences.

We swapped contact info, talked upgrades, and pointed them toward easier progression paths before harder trails.

As we rolled out, we saw them heading back in.

Smiles still there.

That’s the whole point.

Here’s a video we put together from the trip—hope you enjoy:
Watch the video