Proceed at Your Own Risk. June 28. Day 7. Part 2

Continued from Proceed at Your Own Risk. June 28. Day 7. Part 1. 

Photos 5 and 6 show the boat on its way to fetch me and young Matthew running the boat as he ferries me across. Being not quite as nimble as he is, I did get my feet wet climbing into the boat. 

 

 

The guide book suggested I "make my way" west on the jetty until reaching a sandy beach. Photo 7 illustrates that this too was a little adventure. Clambering over rocks is not as easy with a backpack (and almost 7 decades of body wear) as it was in my youth. 

 

I liked "Proceed at your own risk." How else do we ever proceed in life? By the way I made it safely through. 

Indeed, I realized today's short (8 miles or so) hike was going to end very early, starting as I had at 5 am. So I decided to treat myself to breakfast in town. I asked a couple on the beach, Kurt and Denise, which beach exit to take and they walked me to my restaurant (and also explained a different exit to return on to dodge a creek and keep my shoes on a little longer). They waited while I dusted sand off my bare feet and put on my shoes and we shared stories in that strangely deep and casual way that happens on these hikes. They also spoke of spirituality, recovery, learning to see the beach, the day, one's own body as a gift from God - and about the kind of pain that makes that hard to do. They told me about a friend who is way ahead of me on the Coastal trail but whom they hope I will meet. A man named Scott in a kilt. The collage below / photo 8 - shows them, the sign in the restaurant they guided me too, the creek they helped me dodge, the beach I stepped back onto. 

 

So two more I want to show you. The Twin Rocks on the southern part of Rockaway Beach, photo 9, and the great blue heron who was perched on the deck when my little "ferry" arrived, photo 10. 

 

 

After I left the beach I found the campground easily. But I was surprised at how huge it was. It took a long time to find the check-in booth and another long time to find my site. I was about to set up camp when I heard (and smelled) a diesel truck parked in the parking lot adjacent to my campsite with its motor running. I phoned the county camp office. They figured out the truck belonged to the camp host (a volunteer position all camps seem to have now - the host at yesterday's camp drove me to the check-in booth on her little cart like a golf cart.). The host meanwhile had a fall that morning and was at hospital. I rather understood that this was a more important event in his life than mine (very unusual perception for me to have when I am being inconvenienced, so let's pause a moment and give River a stroke for that excellent ability to see past my own nose - which was at that moment hysterical about diesel fumes and how they turn my brain to mush). Anyway, I walked a long way back to check-in without even getting seriously lost (I tell you there must be thousands of campsites here it is huge) and got my site changed to one near the check-in (short walk back and near where I take off tomorrow morning). So that was a small adventure too. 

Tomorrow is a very short day. A road - or perhaps railroad, you get to choose which risk you proceed with - walk to Garibaldi post office for my first resupply box. Then I meet up with my friend and soon to be former neighbor Judy W's friend Susan and spend a day and overnight in Tillamook and start at Meares Cape tomorrow. Or, if the meet-up collapses (our communication has been a little uncertain) then I will see if I can hitch a ride with crabbers from Garibaldi Marina on the incoming tide across to Crab Harbor and sleep there and hike down to Meares Cape and on to Cape Lookout campground tomorrow. 

We will see.