A month ago I banged my shin pretty bad, what the doc called a “bone bruise”. She said Stay off it if you want to heal, and considering how it hurts to walk even a few steps, I’ve been complying. It’s frustrating I can’t go out for my daily exercise here at home, bicycling or hiking along my local beaches on the inland waters of the Salish Sea. But I was especially bummed I wouldn’t be able to go beach-hiking during my annual week out at the open ocean, one of my great joys in life. We like to visit the Washington coastline in winter to let the vast stormy seas and skies sweep away the niggling obsessive anxieties of daily life crowding our minds, at least for a while. It takes several days at least with our faces in the salt spray, with sand and gravel and rocks underfoot, not pavement. Rather than the pervasive ugly mechanical noises of technology, I love to hear the arhythmic roar of waves breaking on the shore after a thousand-mile journey, and then draining, spent, rattling and foamy, down the steep cobbly beach face, calming and rejuvenating my soul. I was glum but resigned. We’d already mostly paid for the 5 nights in the cabin at La Push...might as well go. I could at least look out the window.
To my deep delight I discovered some new things, and came back to the cabin at sunset each day with my senses filled and my cheeks rosy in spite of physical debility. Here’s a bit of what I discovered this year out at the ocean.
While several beaches along the coast are only accessible by hiking, a few are near the road, like First Beach. Our first day was a stormy mix of weather, layers of clouds racing different directions, with occasional rain and blue sky, sometimes simultaneously. I hobbled out to the driftwood in front of the cabin and sat there for a couple of hours watching the ongoing drama. Because I was sitting still rather than walking along the beach I could see how the storm clouds swept by, filling and dissolving. Briefly crepuscular rays slanted downward silhouetting the seastacks offshore. Driftlogs rolled back and forth in the surf and foam blew.
The next day was even stormier: socked in, pouring rain and wind blasting from the south. The tide was very high midday and the Coast Guard used the extreme conditions to practice maneuvers, especially negotiating big breaking waves. There are no harbors from Neah Bay at the northwest corner of the state until Grays Harbor 100 miles south; the Coast Guard maintains a station halfway along that stretch within the mouth of the Quillayute River to provide rescue service. Both recreational vessels and commercial fishing boats get into trouble in the rough seas here. On this day two 47-foot rescue boats were plunging and dancing in the waves near shore. The crew were strapped in. One boat was consistently closer to shore where the biggest waves were — perhaps the more experienced crew? They practiced going in and out of the river mouth as well. It was quite a demonstration of skill in perilous conditions.
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The coastline of Washington gets 10 feet of rain a year, most of it in winter. It is usually gray and wet when we visit. One day we drove over to Rialto Beach and I hobbled far enough into the driftwood to find a safe comfortable seat to watch the waves from there. Usually we hike a couple of miles down Rialto beach, but this time we just sat. I watched the waves crashing relentlessly onto this steep beach. The wind blew spray sideways off the tops of breaking waves. That always make me think of the manes of horses galloping onto the shore. Watching driftlogs being tossed in the surf is very meditative. Once, for a few moments, diffuse sunlight leaked through the cloud deck turning the water pearly. Then it was gone. Because I was watching, I saw that ephemeral effect.
Another spot we could drive to was the mouth of the Quillayute River. Two jetties now confine the river, with a marina a short ways upstream. We went there at different tides; at high tide the ocean pushes far upriver and the mix of waters draws a lot of wildlife. We saw many California sealions, Harbor seals, 2 resident eagles, Pelagic cormorants, Western grebes, Black Turnstones, gazillions of gulls, and more.
Our last day turned miraculously sunny. Back at Rialto Beach (never too much Rialto!) I noticed something I hadn’t on previous trips. Kids. Lots of kids on the beach. Lots of kids playing in the driftwood, chasing the surf, dragging sticks along the sand, picking up treasures from the sand. Laughing and active! Not staring at computer games indoors. Since we usually hike far from trailheads I hadn’t realized how many families come to the beach, since they mostly play near the road ends. Not much helicopter parenting here. Once a kid about 8 ran past us, dodging the surf. These waves can pull you into deep water in a moment. It was another 10-15 minutes before the parents and other kids appeared and caught up with him. He’s in the red jacket down the beach in these photos.
One reason I usually prefer to hike a distance from roads is to find empty beaches. That was not to be this time. But you can see it’s not too crowded on First Beach even in front of the cabins. Winter!
An important thing I learned this year is that there are things going on I never noticed until I stopped to watch. I know that but I hadn’t really thought about it with regard to a beach-walking trip. Perhaps most important was a profound appreciation for being able to walk usually. For me, this leg injury is temporary. For many other folks their mobility is permanently limited. I have my own permanent degenerative disabilities that have not yet restricted me from at least some beach-walking, hiking and bicycling. I know in time I won’t be able to wander the beaches. Until then I am grateful there are places we can all access to be able to enjoy nature, like those in this Bucket.
Appreciate what you can do now, and empathize with folks who are disabled. An injury is a good reminder of this.
Time for you to share what you’re seeing in your natural neighborhood . . .
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