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The Olympic Peninsula has always felt more like the edge of the world than a mere national boundary.

Its ocean shoreline, the northwesternmost coast of the contiguous United States, is accessible by a single road, U.S. Highway 101, and it has long been traveled by a distinctive fleet: loud logging trucks rumbling out of the dark and wet woods, rusty pickups with windows pronouncing “Native Pride,” stray Subarus hauling surfboards and kayaks to the cold Pacific.

Then the U.S. Border Patrol vehicles started showing up.