A Typical Day.

Funny, I haven't really thought much about posting, or even writing down the typical off-water day, or around camp activities before. They seem like such quiet moments to me.





Submitted for your perusal...



This morning I awake pre-dawn, as has become my custom, slide out from under the tarp and take a look at the world through bleary eyes. Sometimes I imagine how it must look to the ravens or who-ever else is watching. The lumpy brown blob, starts to shake, and bulge, and slowly a tubulous black blob starts extruding out the end, foot by foot by foot. Like watching a cow giving birth... or something equally discombobulating...



Bleary eyes - unstuck but still fuzzy - the sea still crashes but it's quieter now with the distance low tide puts between us. It's cool and misty feeling like... yep... there it is... rain.



So I worm my way back under the tarp feet first, snuggle up next to Persephone, reach out and pull a sea-sock full of deck gear back in to block the entrance, and snake an arm out to deftly flip a piece of driftwood onto the tarp from the outside. Deftly? Maybe not, as a few times I've overshot and caught the weight of it on my noggin.



Sun is up now, has been for a few hours, or so my warmed toes tell me. I lazily roll onto my side, getting a wet lick of the tarp's slippery tongue as I brush it with my face. I pull off my mitts and open up the entrance for some fresh air - cool crisp and clean... ahhhhhh...  I roll the rest of the way onto my belly to come nose-to-tail with a big green banana slug. I lay still and watch him hesitantly chose his path, an eye stalk pushes out and touches ever so gently an angle of a fern leaflet, he slowly twists and lifts his body across the void, arching a full half of it out before lowering it slowly to the next. Amazingly he seems to know just how much pressure to put at any point of contact and the fernlet barely surrenders a fraction of the fraction of an inch to the ground below. Such luxury to be able to watch a slug travel - three feet he travels while I watch, slowly, deliberately, and gracefully. A few times he turns towards the taut skin of Peresephone but a tap of my finger to the skin sends a little vibration his way,  his eye-stalk pulls in, he turns away again. The grove of coltsfoot I'm camped in looms over me like a tropical canopy. What a unique perspective I think to myself.



Time for a morning walk to get my blood flowing. South to the Point of Arches, a quick look to see the daily state of Mr.Sea Lion - deceased. He's rapidly diminishing in stature, now a half-buried furry object, last week he was quite approachable, the week before I was lifting his flippers to feel the soft wrinkled leather, touching his fur, and looking at his little toe-nails, wiggling his stiff fish-bone whiskers . Now his skin presents little barrier, and his odour... slipping rapidly to carrion for the crows and eagles, and my shy friend the coyote who quietly visits my camp in the night. I've only seen him once but he's around, his footprints give him away, always alone, always in the dim light. I was awakened one night by him on my body... or was it just the dreams thrust upon me by a full pack of cookies devoured in the darkness? I really don't know... it was so odd... and I couldn't wake myself fast enough...



A quick stop on the return trip to pick up my billy - it's sticky with black tar from the odd white wood I tried last night. Strangest stuff. I continue my walk North to the little stream to fetch water, I lower the billy down into a little well in the stones, and scoop it up full. Porridge with raisins this morning, chased back with clear hot tea, and tortillas quartered and toasted over my little wood-stove. I feel a bit spendy today and gob a big blob of Peanut Butter on each one before folding it, and savouring it's crispy warm oozy goodness.



Coming out of the forest I stop behind a tree as I see movement nearby on the beach - a river otter. I'd like to say it trotted out but they don't really trot do they? Odd movement, like an inch-worm, a big furry brown inch worm, that swims... and eats fish... ahhh for lack of the proper word...



So it 'trotted' towards the surf, stopping a few times and looking about, and up, nervously. Eagles? Little otter throws itself forward like a child launching a sled, and slips along it's belly in the foamy residue of the receding froth - repeatedly, with legs kicking it along. I watch it cruise along the waves, looking for... the rip! Little otter knows about rips! It paddles along then starts out at an angle, tiny in comparison to the three foot waves cresting over it but it loses no ground, and not once did I see it lifted up by the wave and tossed, though I expected it.



Odd how much the surf changes day to day. Yesterday it was an intense frothy mess, today it's clean and mellow-er. Yesterday huge crests waaaay out there and crest after crest after crest all the way in. Today a single three foot wave cresting at the beach. They're bigger in the middle of the bay but still quite paddleable. I've decide to wait though, at least until I tye up some loose ends. I want to share this place with others.



It's a long walk the length of the beach to the trail-head - pleasant though.The sand is packed enough... and fine enough that my steps don't sink as I walk. I love walking but trudging is too much like work.



Interesting beachcombing here. Found a glass Japanese fishing float the day I landed. The majority of the beaches tidal washings are plastic water bottles, styrofoam crab floats, and plastic plastic plastic... Yesterday I found a little tub of hand cream - Japanese I think, a glass bottle from China or Hong Kong, a stainless thermos bottle, a sandal with a crop of very healthy gooseneck barnacles living on it, and a piece of plywood to cover my fire-pit and stove - to keep my little woodpile dry.



There is freshwater here in April - little rivulets of groundwater coming off the bluffs, and a larger stream that burbles. Burbles - I've always liked the sound of that word. Burrrrr-bles. Each little rivulet presents a different face to the sand encrusted sea. One has a toothy grin, piles of logs, loosely stacked helter skelter - another a rusty rail, and an little dam of logs neatly stacked - mounds of perfectly round rocks reveal another - a collection of riddled and perforated stones, some with burrowing clam shells still tucked inside litter the mouth of this one - just back there a rocky outcropping hides a hidden little set of falls, mossy,  and ferns and wild ginger cling to the cool moistness. The water always runs to the sea, but sometimes it vanishes into the sand.



At my end of the beach it's rare to see footprints - on a weekend a set or two heading purposefully to the point, but that's about it. Here by the trail-head there are tracks everywhere, the toe-heavy dents of heavy loads, scufflers leaving a swoosh splat swoosh splat with each step, over there a little dog, and he had a good roll in the pile of seaweed as well. Only once have I seen a barefoot print, and upon seeing it I took my own shoes off and left a set to keep it company.



The trail out is three miles, maybe four, maybe two, depends who you ask. I love this hike, even the oozy goosh of the humic mud that sucks at my feet as I walk. Salmonberry shoots are ready for the picking and I do pick them, peeling them and relishing their moist, crisp acidity.



A raven is croaking his call over my head as I lean here against a giant of a moss-covered wind-fall. Sun is getting low as I see the colour of the light changing. Off I go!



Walking the trail I'm looking at things differently. Is that some kind of mustard with the white flowers? The ferns are unfurling - Asplenums a tight little top-knot - Swords crazily twisted and twirled. A yellow flowered Geum there. Huckleberries and blueberries, their little flower buds shaped exactly as their berries will be, blushed red from the spring sun. Azaleas, small ruddy little buds preparing to open - red? or possibly purple? A Rufus Hummingbird dances overhead, a rat-a-tat-tat of a pip as he dives and climbs. Must be the pink Salmon-berries he's laying his claim on. Bees, the first bees are about, so glad as the wild strawberries have been flowering for weeks, their blossoms withering and dropping for lack of a drop of pollen.



I reach the parking lot, and the road...



Today I'm starting towards Neah Bay, I make it a two day journey, sleeping under a spruce, or nestled in salaal amongst the rocky outcrops high above the sea, or tucked discreetly down behind a log. I always sleep well, covered in a thin rain poncho that serves as my shelter, as I always eat well. Another day I'll take the time to write it down for you...



~d