Right into the thick of things.
From Day 3, June 3 2010
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After several more miles of walking through the woods, we came upon Cannon Beach, apparently the most beautiful beach in Oregon. In order to get from one side of the beach to the side nearest to town, we had to wade across Ecola River. It was about 100 feet to cross and the water was so frigid cold that after several steps, I started yelling all kinds of profanities and inexpressible cries of pain and ran back. So we tried again, this time at the place where the river and ocean meets, hoping that the water would be warmer there. It was. But half of it was still cold as hell and while I was screaming my head off, my dad, with no expression on his face kept silent, lips tightly shut. (The sensory receptors on his calfs down must be nonfunctional). I’ve never had my feet in such cold water for that long. The pain feels like a thousand tiny daggers piercing your flesh, the pain never numbing.
Dad and me wading across Ecola River
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From Day 6
Last night was our first night pitching the tent and camping outside, at Cannon Beach. Everything was going fine. We could hear a small river trickling down below us. We lighted our portable stove and mixed cheddar cheese rice with mashed potatoes. Although the food was a bit salty, after hiking all day, it was nice to have something in our stomach. We got into our sleeping bags. Suddenly, it started raining. Light at first, the rain fell stronger, repeatedly rapping against our tent. We realized that our tent was not completely water proof when we noticed small puddles of water in the tent corners and the inside edges of our sleeping bags getting wet.
By 2AM, neither of us could tolerate sleeping in a wet sleeping bag any longer and decided we should sleep in a one toilet, one sink public bathroom. We left our tent, set down our thin mats and sleeping bags on the concrete floor of the bathroom and returned to sleep. Although it was warmer and dryer here, this ground was the stiffest, flattest, and hardest I’ve ever slept on. I felt like I was sleeping in a prison, though even in prisons there are mattresses. Nonetheless, we slept well and had animating dreams. My dad dreamt about Gomi at home with three colorful lions, interpreting the dream as a symbol for what was going on at home. (Perhaps Gomi is my sister and the three colorful lions represent the three interns?)
The next morning we set off for Small Sands Beach. It would take us 11 miles. 11 miles might not sound too bad but when you are carrying 30 extra pounds on your back and hiking up and down mountains with wet and muddy paths, it can be the most strenuous physical work. I even hesitate to call it “exercise” since when exercising, you’re supposed to adjust your body whenever you feel a strain or strange discomfort in order to prevent any injuries. But when you are competing with the sun’s falling in order to have enough light in the middle of the woods to get to your next destination, there is not much time to readjust every time there is a strain or discomfort. You just keep walking.
This particular 11 miles seemed like it would never end. For awhile we just kept walking up the mountain and once we felt like we had crossed the apex and began walking down, the path would elevate again. This constant up and down of the path and our expectations seemed like a brutal game played against us by nature in order to test our mental and physical perseverance.
Yet there is an expansive joy in this kind of hard work. Everything in our surroundings seemed to overflow. The air is crisp, clean, and full of oxygen. The countless spruce, douglas fir, and cedar trees create a harmonious and rich brown and green pattern of tall, lean, and great heights. And about every couple of miles there is a clearing over a cliff of the great blue Pacific Ocean splattered with various strokes of stark white waves. Not to mention, when we just can’t go any further, a short break of resting on some huge fallen trunk with a spoonfull of peanut butter in our mouths tastes and feels like, as a friend says, “drinking milk from the the teet of the primordial mother.”
Dad drying off his sweaty shirt.
Me walking through path.
A clearing from the 11 mile mountain hike to Small Sands Beach.
Walking on Arch Cape.
Crossing over a suspension bridge into the trail from a residential neighborhood.
Dad climbing over a tree blocking the path.
- A stream running into Small Sands Beach.
After six hours of walking, we finally arrived at Small Sands Beach, a small and secluded beach surrounded by mountainous forests on each side. We washed off our muddy clothes in a cold river and laid them out along pebbly rocks under the sun. We were fully exhausted, every part of our hips downwards aching as well as our shoulders and backs. We ate more peanut butter and slices of bread and then walked towards a dry area of sand, laid down, and fell asleep. I’m not sure if it was because we had been hiking all day, slept in a public bathroom overnight, or because the beach was so quiet and nice, but in that moment of laying down under the sun, listening to the crashing waves while dozing off, I felt as if I had entered paradise…or at least a nice reference for a future date spot.
