Warning Dangerous Bar. July 3. Day 12. Part 3

Continued from Warning Dangerous Bar. July 3. Day 12. Part 2. 

Okay I am getting carried away. Not only did I eat a huge meal and a very rich chocolate desert (when I had already eaten a whole day's worth of trail food - though the truth is I have no regrets) but I am also already to part 3 of the day's blog and it is basically not yet 9 in the morning. 

So we're going to have to speed-blog through the rest of the day. I hike back to where George dropped me off - walking on the level sand now not beachcombing and at a faster pace. Even with a stop for a rest the return hike takes 20 minutes less than the northbound one. As I head south, the sun, which came out very early - morning sun has been unusual and therefore precious on this hike - is getting higher. Everything sparkles. I am watching people as well as waves and tasting/breathing the wonderful ocean breeze. 

I get to the end of the beach. I search for the trail up the guidebook describes. I find it. 

I stop for lunch at Fogarty Creek Park and sleep two hours on the grass in the sun. 

I find the trail again. Then I lose it and find it and lose it and find it. At one point two women appear hiking south to north. They are as lost as I am, and I tell them how to find the trail behind me, and they tell me how to find the trail behind them. We all agree that the guidebook which we also love and cannot do without, can be very very confusing. 

In between finding and losing the trail, I walk through deep green quiet spaces right at the edge of highway 101 with its hurtling traffic and roar, and stunning glimpses between greenery of the rocky shores that make beach hiking below impossible. 

Eventually I reach Boiler Bay and walk all around the circuit of viewpoints with all the other tourists (who mostly have come by cars so I look a bit odd with my pack and sticks). 

I hike the last mile or two to the town of Depoe Bay, check in to the travelodge where I have a reservation, enjoy a bath, wash out my clothes and underwear and hope they will dry overnight, visit on the phone with Chrissy and head over to the Tidal Raves for dinner. 

That was good River. Very quick and succinct. But what about pictures?

Okay. Photo 14.  Stopping for a rest (finding a drift log  I can sit on) as I hike back down Salishan Spit.

 

Photo 15. Watching people as well as waves. The ocean is teaching me to see people in new ways. 

 

Photo 16.  Coming to the end of the beach. Where is that trail? Could it be here? Ah. There it is. 

 

Photo 17. Deep green quiet beside freeway noise. Teaching me about how to hold (or be held by) opposites. 

 

Photo 18. Glimpses of beautiful rocky beach. 

 

Geez that was way more tiring than my walk. If you made it this far you're probably as tired as I am. So let's toss on our life jackets and make our way to the nearest bar. 

(Ps - See you in the morning for a short - less  than 8 mile - walk to Beverley Beach. I hope to learn a thing or two about beachcombing for agates on the way. )
 

Comments

  1. joannieJuly 4, 2017 at 9:25 AM

    dear river, it is such a pleasure to walk with you --- i can almost smell that changing colors of ocean and sky, and the green of those trees. thank you. then the joy of those you meet --- surely george, your retired airline mechanic (now lighthouse champion) feels someone we'd trust to make safe those strange silver tubes in the sky that carry us to and away from those we love. sending such good wishes for the journey on this 4th of july. and thinking of corita kent, and what she wrote (i think, sometime in the 60's) "i should like to be able to love my country and still love justice."
    love to you,
    joannie
    p.s. i wrote a poem about one of your adventures on the PCT. grateful that you share so many of your stories. you give them to us, and then we get to carry them, and give them away as needed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. River MalcolmJuly 4, 2017 at 9:40 AM

      I'd love to see the poem Joanie. Meanwhile in honor of Independence Day I remember the little girl I once was who didn't know any better than to think a flag fluttering in the wind was s beautiful reminder of heroic courage, freedom, democracy,fairness - "by the rude bridge that arched the flood, their flag to april's breeze unfurled, here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world" - a symbol that there would one day be a life for her beyond the misery and unkindness of her stepfamily household. And however much her dream of her country's history was oversimplified and white-washed, it helped spark the hope and persistence that made it possible for her to survive, find love, and live a beautiful life. So happy Independence Day. 🎇🎆🇺🇸🎇🎆🌊🌊

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