R&R

I thought I was in a hurry to get back on the water, turns out I was in a hurry to get away from Port Angeles. It's an odd place, beautiful scenery, idyllic location, but crime and unemployment are rampant. Heavy industry lives, where in many cities, there'd be sea-side boardwalks, and children playing in parks.

 The mill overshadows and is also the lifeline for this town. Men in suspenders driving big diesel trucks roar through town. These same men all watch suspiciously as I order my breakfast and gulp down a cup of tea with honey. I left town late this afternoon, Kevin became my gracious host, driving me around town while I picked up my supplies, and chatting with me while I loaded up for a late departure.



It was dark last night while I was trying to find a landing spot here on Angeles Point, a few hours from town. I was having a difficult time getting off the water as it was high tide and there was dumping surf crashing on rocky beaches at high tide. I paddled along, in the dark towards the mouth of the Elwha River searching in the darkness but mostly just listening to the rumble of waves crushing down on the beach. Listening... listening... crashing surf... crashing surf... wait... no more crashing surf... Something sounded different at one point though, the surf crashed but it wasn't accompanied by the growl of rocks rolling back into the sea with the receding froth. A sand-bar, and a little hidden slot about ten feet wide which allowed me to di\uck through and behind the sandbar into the mouth of the estuary. It felt so good to find it using my senses and my awareness...



Suddenly I'm not in a hurry anymore. This place is so pretty. I'm sitting here by a little brook that is making bloopity bloopity soundsas it flows. Burbling? Off in the distance the sea roars like a lion but here the brooksd laughs like a room full of excited children. A magical place where the river meets the sea - a quote I think. Not sure by who.



I feel the tension drain away as I sit here, writing in the misty rain of morning, listening to birds sing and chirp. Shore-birds sing so differently than sea-birds. A hundred feet to my left I can hear Pigeon Guillemots, gulls, sea-ducks. Here it's Red-wing Blackbirds. The crow is around as well, as man has been here.I'm staying another night.



It's evening now. The sun is two fingers above the horizon, and sinking fast. The light is changing to that pretty low light, soft. All the things around me have shadows, the smallest stones and pebbles even. Everything is so three dimensional in this light. Wish I had a camera as the contrasts are incredible - Ansell Adams was a master in this light.



I had a few people walk by my little camp, typical for a Sunday I guess. I've been thinking that I'll make Sunday and Monday off the water days as often as possible. Possibly a day to go fishing, or write, or hang around the camp and eat. Maybe go rolling. I feel fresh, and comfortable, despite my lack of a shower in days, and bag of sopping wet (stinky) clothes. Ooooops BRB...

forgot to put them back out to dry - nothing worse than climbing into wet long underwear before the days paddle - makes my willy shrink just thinking about it.



Lights almost gone now - air is getting cool so I'll be packing up my little stove, and stuffing everything back into it's appropriate dry-bag in preperation for tomorrow. I think I'll push for the next river estuary, maybe it'll be as pleasant as this one.



The world is starting to feel wilder and less 'touched'. Less houses, less people, surf, the Olympics right there as I write. Across the water Vancouver island, probably the clear cuts over Jordan River that I'm seeing to the left. I saw the lighthouse at Race Rocks today. I've been paddling for three weeks and yet a single days paddle could get me home back where I started. Home is where I am, not where I was. Odd...



The Race Rocks lighthouse is flashing at me now - miles away. Time to finish my tea and say goodnight.



Sweet dreams all,

~daniel~