Crossing the River 'D.' July 2. Day 11.

Hello again Trail Friends,

I always feel better about my day after writing this blog. I so trust your loving listening to help me illuminate the beauty and put the difficulty in perspective. 

The day began with a reluctant decision to do a bus ride to a trail, rather than try to follow a trail up over Cascade Head that the guidebook described as minimally maintained and challenging. I would have preferred that trail over highway 101 most days but after yesterday I was hoping not to be wandering around forever (as I felt I was when the guidebook I suggested I "make my way" west on a trail just south of Sand Lake and it took me on a long, long meandering journey all the way to the north side of the lake where it connects with the ocean. I probably wouldn't have minded that either if I hadn't such a long day, so many miles, both behind me and yet to go. 

I got up early and walked to the bus stop and the bus appeared as promised and the driver said he'd be happy to drop me between stops if I just pulled the cord. Trouble was I didn't know exactly where my trail was. About a mile south of Neskowin, according to the guidebook. That's how it looked on the official OCT maps. And my gps app even showed a bit of a trail right around there. It didn't show it going all the way through to meet 101 near Lincoln City, but it hadn't with the trail to the beach either (the endless one that did in fact arrive eventually). So at about 1/2 mile south of Neskowin I pulled the cord. 

But before I pull the cord let me tell you about the woman sitting across from me on the bus, quite well groomed (especially for 5:40 in the morning), in a long skirt with a bright floral design and a woven jacket with mountains and elk). Judging from your clothes, I'd guess you really love nature, I said to her. She told me she did. She said sometimes she would walk down the streets so entranced with the plants and the flowers that she didn't even here people when they stopped to offer her a ride. "All I could hear were the plants and the flowers," she said. 

So okay, I get off the bus. And I walk. It looks now like the trail on my gps map is still a mike away. I walk scrutinizing the roadside for anything resembling a Trailhead. Nothing. I do see some wonderful white rabbits with black ears and another all black rabbit (I've seen one on this hike before and I thought it must be someone's pet - now I think these glorious creatures may be wild. 

So I'm about to face hours of walking on 101, and as it gets later there is more and more traffic whizzing by. More fumes, more noise, more risk. I look at my map and at the book and finally locate another Trailhead - this through the Cascade Head experimental forest, about 3 miles beyond Neskowin.  But it rejoins 101 at the same spot (Three Rocks Road) as the other one was supposed to. 

I reach the Trailhead and a sign that says closed to all vehicular and foot traffic, Jan. 15 thru July 15. Today was July 2. I walked through the gate. Maybe I felt sorry for myself because yesterday I felt a little ... well,  it as fully supported by the guidance provided as I might have wished. So the universe owes me, right? I'm entitled. Wrong wrong wrong.  But through the gate I went into a different world of deep green quiet and the smell of earth and growing things. Sigh. 

I was a little bit nervous. I prayed as if I believed in a friendly god to protect me from harm or from doing harm to the environment. At one point I saw fairly fresh cut tree stumps and concluded the area was closed for tree cutting. And that no one would cut trees this early Sunday morning so all was well. Soon I turned off the double track dirt road onto a single track USFS trail. I was really so soothed by the beauty around me. I wanted to take a picture that would convey it. Photo 1 is a collage of my attempts. 

 

I stopped for breakfast and decided to work on yesterday's blog. I felt so utterly at ease and happy in that green place, why rush? I didn't have that many miles to do. Why not pause and enjoy?  What a concept. 

I so enjoy writing the blog - as I have said so many times, in a way I could never enjoy journaling. Your presence allows me to delight in the trail, the people I meet, my experiences and reflections in part because I can senae(imagine?) them resonating with you. So I am happily writing, sitting against a tree, gazing into the green and then I hear this loud loud sound. And I look up and a whole group of female elk have gathered and are looking at me. They seem startled by the sound. It repeats once, twice - and they flee. On the third repetition I gather up my stuff as quickly as I can and start to go very fast down the trail. What was it? A male elk mad because his harem was paying attention to me? For all I knew that loud sound could have been an elk, a bear, an elephant. All I knew was it sounded hostile and loud and translated into English quite clearly as "Get the hell out of here. And I mean now. "

So I went. Fast. But at the same time I was in love with all that green and after awhile (I never heard the sound again, Lord Elk seemed satisfied with my rapid departure) I figured I was out of his territory and sat down and returned to the blog. 

When I finished the beautiful hike I had still 3 or more miles to hike to Lincoln City and the beach. I noticed the small stretch ahead - totally unlike most of 101 - had a very wide shoulder, an actual lane people could pull over into. In other words, it was a reasonable place to hitch. I'd heard stories of no one getting rides on 101 and how the OCT wasn't the PCT, people weren't so aware of and enamored with hikers, and so on. So I had bought this hot pink bandanna - printed in big black letters.  Half of it says "Hiker to Town" and the other half says "Hiker to Trail." So I folded it and used safety pins to fasten it securely to the back of my pack. And off I went with my back to the traffic. It when I heard a car coming I stuck my left arm and thumb out. No one had come and the wide part was almost over when lo and behold a young man in a jeep pulled over. I was excited - told him I'd never been in a jeep before. He said it was great because you could feel the wind, like being on the trail. He said he loved mountains and woods best (we agreed about that) but was beginning to love beaches. Last night he had spent the night at Cape Kiwanda (where I hiked over the sand hill yesterday) and watched the fireworks celebration. He also told me it was his first jeep, he'd had it only 8 months and he loved it. I asked how it was in the rain. He laughed and said he'd had waster two inches deep even with the top on. I loved that it didn't make him live it less. Made me think of the night I had to bail water out of my tent. Photo 2 is of Erin, the young man who was so generous with me, who went out of his way and drove me all the way to the beach, and his jeep. 

 

Thus began my Beach walk. I really get high on human kindness - it's like a drug. Colors get brighter, sounds richer, I have a happy heart. I'm a kindness drunk. 

Photo 3 is a collage of people and rocks and beach, photo 4 of rocks, waves and beach. What can I say? What a wonder to walk through it all watching. I wanted to take more photos of people but felt uncomfortable doing so except from behind or from a distance. But I loved loved loved watching children play - their faces, their shrieks. Building sand castles, splashing in water, bringing pockets of water from the ocean. Fathers and children, sisters, brothers playing together. And of course I loved and have lived since I first saw the Pacific Ocean behind my grandfathers house in La Jolla (I was 5 and it's one of those rare memories I have retained) the thrill of water smashing against rock, the white spray shooting up into the air. 

 

 

I knew I was to turn off the beach just before 'D' River, and walk the short distance to the. Campground. I arrived at a small river but my gps seemed to think I had another mile and a half to go. I should have known better but I was in bliss. I took off my shoes and socks and started across the river. It looked like an easy wade. Then the sand crumbled under my foot and between that and the current bring stronger than expected, I fell. Wet pants, wet jacket, wet pack. I didn't realize until I took my iPhone out of the wet pocket on the side I had fallen on (I immediately asked someone to take my photo, to document the adventure!) that my iPhone was wet too. That would have been scary except it was too terrible for me to admit it could be true. I dried it off as best I could and except for some sand in the connectors (which I plan to use a brush on) it seems fine. 

Photo 5 is of a wet river - taken with a wet iPhone. 

 

Okay. I just had a mini trauma. I finished the blog and the rest got deleted and I have to write it again. And you know the version that got deleted was terrific and this one won't be. Oh well. 

The funniest part about falling down and getting wet in the river is that I wasn't supposed to cross that river today at all. I was supposed to leave the beach there for a short walk to the campground. I thought that might be but when I checked my gps program it told me I had 1.7 miles to go. It didn't cross my mind it might not have updated its location (very common) and to consider my own sense of distance. 

So I walked on for another 1.7 miles and then the gps informed me I had gone 1.7 miles too far. I turned around and headed north but was careful to find an exit from the beach before the river, so I wouldn't have to cross it again. And tomorrow morning when I leave I will probably return to the beach the same way even though it means more roadwalk and less beach. I am just not eager to cross that river again. I know my falling was a fluke, but even so. 

As I walked up from the beach over a small rise I had a nice view of the beach I had just walked (photo 6). 

 

Heading for the campground I crossed a bridge over the 'D' River (this makes me think of a dear friend and former client who always used to refer to the 'D' word - defeat - for him the word that could not be spoken. When I would encourage surrender, acceptance, serenity he would banish the thought. And I might add he is one of the most amazing artists of living I have ever met. His way works much better for him that what I thought I had to offer).  Photo 7 is from the bridge over 'D' River. 

 

I'm sure I am shorter than it is but that's another conversation. 

One more story I want to tell. When I arrived at the campground - tired and still a little in shock from the near-death experience of my iPhone there was a woman sitting on a bench at the communal hiker/biker camping area. She was near some boxes that I thought the ranger had told me had locks and UBS outlets. I was puzzled by the lack of locks and in my way started talking about it. She was seeing a piece of gear and asked me if I had hiked "Cascade Hud". I said I didn't even know what Cascade Hud was. In retrospect it's pretty obvious she said Cascade Head and my deafness messed us up. I asked her where she was from and she said Washington, the gorge. I asked if it was the Columbia River gorge and she repeated "the gorge" - then indicated she needed to focus on her gear repairs. 

I was churning with hurt and anger. I was replaying the conversation and arguing with her. What do you mean, the gorge - do you think it's the only gorge in the world? 

I felt shamed for my lack of hearing and memory, for my lack of knowledge of names.  It took me awhile to calm myself down and let it go. 

Just as kindness makes me high, unkindness (or what I perceive as unkindness) makes me low. 

Later on while I was writing this blog another woman came up looking for her friend. I pointed out the tent I thought she was camped in. The woman mentioned that her friend's name was Erin. 

What a great lesson for the trickster universe to give me today - that kindness and unkindness come to me with the same name. 

I looked up the name Erin. Main meaning is Ireland. But it can also mean peace. 

Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow. Peace. (That's how my father liked to end his letters).