To Hug a Point. June 26. Part 2.

Continued from "To Hug a Point. June 26. Part 1."

After I passed Hug Point I realized to my consternation that I was within a mile or two of my destination, the Inn at Arch Cape. And it was not yet 9am. I had radically miscalculated the length and duration of my hike.

The Inn at Arch Cape check-in time was 3pm. I was supposed to call for a code for a lockbox for the key. I had been told the inn had been sold and I might be forwarded to a new number, and when I called the number I got a recorded message that mentioned several properties but not the Inn at Arch Cape. I left a message. No one called back. 

Well, I thought. I will just go into town and sit down in a cafe and put down my pack and wait. Or maybe I will look at the website and see if I have the right number. I looked and found Arch Cape Inn and Retreat Center and got a real person who assured me someone would call me back. No one did. When I got up to highway 101 it began to dawn on me that there was no cafe. It wasn't that kind of a town. No cafe, restaurant or store of any kind. Well, there was a strange little thrift shop open only on weekends. 

I was feeling anxious. Maybe a little like those turn of the century travelers (women in long skirts looking very yester-century) walking over Hug Point at high tide, who found themselves hugging the rock as they made their perilous way, with waves crashing and breaking, around the Point. That is, they say, how Hug Point got its name. People hugging it as they crossed over. 

So I walk to the Inn, find the office, which is locked, call the real person again and communicate how desperate I am feeling. I have begun to realize I have no email confirmation or confirmation number. I'd be happy to walk further but this was a very expensive reservation and non-refundable. The person is kind, goes the extra mile, finds I have no reservation. Now she tells me that the "Inn at Arch Cape" and the "Arch Cape Inn" are two different places. Maybe my reservation is at the Inn at Arch Cape? 

I walk back across highway 101 (this time judging speed more accurately and not causing a car to brake and honk and scare the beegeesus out of me) and make my way to the real Inn at Arch Cape and find the office and - yes - it is unlocked. I put my pack down. I sit down in a real chair with a back. And I sigh. It feels as if I have been hiking all day. 

I am reassured by the posted message to call and request the code for the key lock box. Everything is as described to me. I have very weak cell service but I call on the landline on the desk by the chair.  I get a recorded message. No one calls back. But I don't really mind. I'm sitting in a chair. I have put my pack down. 

Then, miracle of miracles, Eusebia the Oaxacan housekeeper/gardener, appears. She tells me Heather is at a conference today but we can call Chris. She walks outside where her cellphone works. After two or three calls back and forth (and my rechecking my notes) we figure out that my room is Unit 2, that it is ready, that I can check in early, and that Eusebia (unlike Chris) knows the code for the key lock box. 

[Eusebia by the way comes from a Greek word for a philosophical concept that might translate as "spiritual maturity" or "piety" or "godliness." Not to hug the point. ]

It is barely 10am. I am in a lovely room with dark wood furniture, original art, a small kitchen - windows overlooking a lively garden. I feel as if I have walked two days. 

Then I pick up a book on the history of Arch Cape left on the table of my room and read a little. I get curious about the arches for which Arch Cape was named (accessible, I read, only at lie tide). I rush down to the beach to have a look, calculating that two hours past the -2.4 tide will still be lower than tonight's +2 low tide at its lowest. 

This project unfortunately requires fording Arch Cape creek which I try to do by rock hopping until half way across I recognize defeat and sit on a rock in mid-creek to remove my shoes and socks and roll up my pants. A little like changing horses in mid-stream, but it worked. Alas, though, the tide was too high to hike much farther and I never found the arches. Wading back across the whole width of the creek barefoot, I crossed at a sandy stretch with very few rocks. Much much easier. I think this hike is going to teach me to just take my shoes off. I avoid it because it takes so long - especially trying to dust off all the sand before putting them back on. But I timed it - I don't think it took much more than 5 minutes. River, you can spare 5 minutes to take your shoes off, and 5 minutes to put them back on. 

Yeah I know. But - it's also hard to find a place to sit. You don't want to sit in the sand. You don't want to have your pack blow over and have the pack pockets get full of sand. Or lose things that fall out. 

It's a hard life, kiddo. When people say "Life is a beach" they think that means easy. They don't think about the problem of sand. 

So- no arches. But I hiked back south to Hug Point and so enjoyed walking barefoot, the feel of wet firm sand on the soles of my feet, the occasional wave of cool water swirling around my ankles. The air smelled fresh and clean and crisp and cool. I felt great being alive. 

It was fun to see Hug Point at high tide. And to see some intrepid beach runners walk along the ledge and then splash through the waves back to sand. (Photo 8). 

 

 

I was struck again how not boring I was finding the beach. No beach glass. No interesting shells. But there were pebbles of all different sizes and shapes. Even the sand was multi-colored and the different colors made ever different designs on the sand (photo 9). 

 

 

I came back to the room and relaxed all afternoon. Tomorrow I think is a longer hike than I had in mind (17 miles+ instead of 15) and includes hiking up and over 1200 ft Neahkahnie Mountain as well as Falcon Cape. Great names, huh? It will be the longest forest stretch of the whole hike and there should be a few old growth trees and some exciting views looking down on the coast. Then I will sleep tonight at Nehalem Point State Park - my first state park with hiker-biker walk-in sites. I read that these particular sites were wood platforms (not suitable for tents with stakes) which inspired my most recent unconscionable extravagance of a two-person free-standing tent. Which as I've already told you makes me feel like I'm traveling in total luxury. So much space. 

Enough. I want to end with something profound related to the title "To Hug a Point."

 Instead, I think of a place on Vancouver Island in Canada that Chris and I love, called Point No Point. 

Isn't  it a little beside the point to think about hugging a point that is not a point?

But it was all I could think of. 

Tomorrow, though, I look forward to sharing another day's hike with you.  And as always I thank you for your companionship.