Camp. Safely above the tides (see background) but cramped. I'll call it "cramping". It will be big.
Cramped, but with a nice view.
Ed didn't make it. Might have eaten too many rocks. Don't eat rocks, guys.
Or the crows will get you. Poor Ed.
Around sunset Tuesday. That would have been May 1.
Another friend, Chuckit! So I did. What the hey. He flies good.
Noninflatable sleeping pad. Didn't try it. I think it was a trick laid by the tide. I had my own anyway.
Happy evening ducks. Aren't ducks always happy?
Cipher. Could be a secret message. Erased by the next tide. Verrry suspicious.
My home as seen from the beach.
Morning, May 2. About 5:30. Two boats on the horizon. On a seriously low tide it's possible to circumnavigate the fuzzy sea-stack under the moon.
Fuzzy cobble. Difficult walking. Especially when wet, like trying to tiptoe across a convention of bald guys.
Tiny crabs everywhere. Limpets too.
Someone else made tracks.
Hole-in-the-wall. Canadians. Remarked that there didn't seem to be a lot of bear food around. Just me, I guess.
Hole-in-the-wall at right center, getting crowded in late morning. Only a couple miles from the parking lot.
Sea stacks in the other direction. A fun beach.
Downed tree. Bristly. Didn't have much to say.
A view like this makes it seem a long way out. Lots of surf. Haze. Salt spray. Rumbling.
This is also hard to walk on.
I had planned to make this three nights and four days but it became one night and two days.
I've been through here many times, beginning in 1980 — used to hike in over Thanksgiving weekend when I had four days off. Hardly ever saw anyone. After a few trips I did one over Christmas. Surprisingly, I saw a few people at Christmas. It seems like Thanksgiving is a holiday that brings people together and Christmas is one that might be too much. Or else a lot of people might find it too far to go "home" to see relatives, so they get adventurous at Christmas.
Thanksgiving is a time to just get together and share, and you can do it with relatives, or friends, or neighbors, or vague acquaintances, so you stay put. November in western Washington is also the stormiest month of the year, which is another reason to stay in the city.
In December there is less daylight, but not too much less, and the weather is certainly not worse, so that might make up some of the difference. Who can say?
I had fun there, but this year the weather, seemingly all rain all March and all April, suddenly broke. People broke loose. I saw a few, only a few, but it seemed too many. I decided not to hike in farther on Day Two as planned, camp two more nights, and hike out on Day Four, but to turn tail and hike out on Day Two.
It worked. My heart wasn't in it, and I have no one to impress. And I've seen it all before, so no great loss. I had fun but didn't want to force myself.
I did learn one great lesson though, one that powerfully influenced my decision: Bear canisters suck big time.
I used one. You have to here, by law. Mine barely fit into my pack and threw off my balance like crazy. I hated every second I had to deal with it. If I'd driven back to Olympia, WA through Port Angeles, I might have chucked it in the general direction of the Goodwill store there as I drove through town.
But I didn't go that way. I went south, past Lake Quinault, Hoquiam, Aberdeen, and so on.
On the way I got the idea of possibly using the canister for a food cache later in the summer. If I go out on one or two long trips, I might be able to leave my second week's food stashed in the weeds in the bear canister, which I cleverly bought and paid for and am now stuck with, pointlessly, otherwise.
So maybe. Maybe this, maybe that.
Right now I want to get out again but am briefly stuck waiting for something to arrive in the mail. Maybe toward the end of the week. I can hope.
More:
Rialto Beach (ONP)
Rialto Beach (Wikipedia)
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