We had survived a cold night on the sands of the Pacific coast, and I was ready to start moving and get out of here. When I emerged from my cocoon, unzipped my tent, and peeled back the fly, I saw none other than our resident elk here to grace us with his presence once again. I suppose he liked to come around meal times, although we certainly did not feed him. 

At the picnic table both Zach and I were sitting wrapped in our sleeping bags, shivering and pitifully sneaking our hands out from under our sleeping bags to pinch off a bit of Clif Bar or down a gulp of Muscle Milk. That was our breakfast. 

It was a cold gray misty morning at Golden Bluffs. The wind was whipping, the ocean waves were fiercely crashing, and nothing was quite golden this morning. The place was rather hostile to our presence, so I did not want to waste any time in getting packed up and back on the trail. We had taken a different route back through the Redwoods. It was the official “Tsunami Evacuation Route,” as one sign proclaimed, but also known as the Miner’s Ridge trail on the park map. We hiked it for 4.1 miles out to the car at Prairie Creek Redwood State Park. The trail was rather unnotable, especially after the experiences and observations of the day prior. My mind was set on the objective: get to the car and onto the next leg of the adventure. While we were hiking we came across a young couple on the trail. Zach knew them! They were from Auburn, the small town of about 1,600 that Zach’s family is from in southwestern Kentucky. They chatted for a few minutes. 

When we reached the car we drove twelve miles south to the Kuchel Visitor Center. We had already been to one visitor center the day prior, but I like to visit all the visitor centers at a given park. I suppose it’s the fear of missing out on something that drives me. Plus this was the visitor center with the park film, which is a staple in my visitation of a National Park. I also needed to get a pin to add to my collection and a park sticker for my summer’s Nalgene bottle. There Zach bought himself a brown Redwood cap. I was glad, for it was a sign he enjoyed the adventure enough to buy a souvenir. I was very concerned about Zach having a good time. I had convinced him to come on this trip and spend the money to fly to California, and I wanted to make sure it was well worth it for him. Also all my previous National Park adventures were so special and sacred to me. I wanted him to find that joy and fulfillment which I found in my park adventures. 

I admit, after finding it very difficult to connect with people after moving to Kentucky, I gave up at trying to include others. I was an outsider, with no real family connections. Everyone around me was already established in their familiar and social circIes. I could not break in. I will go do things by myself and enjoy things by myself, and I did. I had many valuable experiences at the time, but I had been convicted recently to try and share my life again. I found my life to be very rich in experiences which I so desired to share. If I was married I’d naturally share these experiences with my wife, but, being single, more effort was needed. 

One day I was listening to the song “Better Get to Livin,’” by Dolly Parton, and it really spoke to me on the topic of sharing my life. It was a pivotal moment in which a paradigm shifted. I was going to intentionally try and share my life again. This resolve was very uplifting for me. My revelation in the desert days prior confirmed this. I can open the book of another and write into his or her story tales of cherished adventures, rich in meaning. I also had the successful experience of sharing a portion of another trip, which I discuss in my first book, with my friend Dom in Bryce Canyon. I hoped I could help provide Zach with such a rich experience, but to some extent I was very naive, for much of this ability was out of my control. I should not have carried this weight. Everyone experiences everything different. Nothing is quite the same for everyone. It was all so well-intentioned, but I was carrying a self-imposed expectation that became a burden to me which in return became harmful. It would soon become increasingly apparent. 

After our detour to the visitor center, we headed northward in the Redwoods by vehicle, parallel to the ocean, on our way to Crescent City and the Northernmost unit of the Redwood National and State Parks: Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. There we would camp at Mill Creek Campground. Of course there were places on the way to see. One of the first stops was at High Bluff Overlook. It was one of the most memorable views of this whole summer’s trip. As the name suggests, we were high up on a rocky craggy bluff, which used to be part of an old mine quarry. We were 307 feet above the ocean looking down and around at a truly expansive view of the ocean. We could see the small sandy shore lines winding around the Redwood Forest and rough rocks sticking up from the ocean, some as quite enormous boulders but miniaturized by how high up we were. We could also see breaking waves all over, not just against the shore but out in the blue expanse and against the protruding rocks. The ocean was very much alive and busy in all corners. To add to the beauty, the sky had turned a rich blue, except for the condensation lifting from the forest behind us. With a mostly clear sky, the ocean reflected an array of blues from a light turquoise to a shallow royal. I was really taken away with all the movement of the ocean and all the hundreds of independent waves crashing. I took out my camera to capture a video of the display. I was still using a point-and-shoot. I had not fully graduated to a smartphone. 

 

I then sat there in silence, trying to be still, calm, and quiet for a moment, really taking in the scenery. I had quite an unusual vacancy of thought and would close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the ocean and feeling the warm sun on my face, and then open them every once-in-a-while to be surprised by the view again. 

It’s not any fault of his own, but with Zach there was just a different dynamic than what I was used to in such beautiful moments. Typically I’d find myself in places like this of such beauty alone with God, communing with Him, speaking with Him. Maybe it was simply Zach’s presence, and adding to the fact that he didn’t share the same faith, or that he was talking on the phone with his mom, interrupting the serene, but I was not connecting spiritually as I so desired. I suppose I wanted to be alone. 

We continued in the car down to Crescent Beach which was beautiful but not too different from the beach we had camped on, minus a much busier road just behind us. We were there only briefly before we made our way into the town harbor. By description it may not sound charming, but in my memory it is held as just that. There was a simplicity and sincerity about the place that added a great ease. It was not trying to be anything other than what it was. It was a blue-collar harbor and small shipping port. There were lots of small boats in the bay, next to a bunch of fishing crates, a U.S. Coast Guard Station, and a small lighthouse. Just across from all that, inland, was a trailer park next to a Super 8 hotel and a local seafood restaurant. That was all on one side. On the other side of Highway 101 was purely the Redwood Forest, which was boxed in on the other side by the Indian Reservation.  

We were both very hungry, and  although I would have just been fine breaking open the snack box in the trunk, Zach wanted a full proper meal at the restaurant, “The Fisherman’s,” and so we went. It was nice to sit down and have a full meal. Zach got some oysters, and I got Salmon. Our booth was next to a cold window where we could look out and see all the boats in the harbor. There were also dozens of tiny little ants on the windowsill which kept creeping onto the table as we ate. 

Zach bought my dinner which was very nice of him. It was a bit of relief as I did start to get concerned about money, and through some instances I was learning it was going to cost more to travel with Zach, just based on his traveling style. I was used to traveling very economically. I’d survive on Clif Bars, jerky, and dried nuts and berries for days. I would rarely pay for a sit down restaurant on an adventure like this, especially if I wasn’t really in between parks, but really still situated around one locale.

 I think it may be interesting for the record to note how much my trips have cost in the past. My last three summers of National Park adventures, each a month long, cost about $700 each. That includes plane tickets, a rental car, accommodations, gas, food, camping gear, souvenirs, and everything else.That gives a picture of how I travel. It may not sound like a lot for a month of travel, but that actually was a lot of money for me at the time. I had an excellent credit score, and so each summer I opened a credit card with introductory 0% interest for one year. I’d charge everything to that card, and then over the course of about four to five months, I’d pay it off. In the process I’d make some money by receiving cash back rewards. My $700 big summer adventures may sound quite surprising, but it goes to illustrate a few things. First it shows the state of the economy just a few years ago, prior to our grand inflation per Democrat leadership and policies. Then it hints at the salary by which public school teachers live on in Kentucky. Lastly, perhaps it shows how economical of a traveler I was. I have wanted to explain this and be transparent, because I have heard on more than one occasion, “I don’t know how you afford to travel so much.” Well, it takes planning, roughing it, skipping meals, and sleeping outside. The years of these first four National Park adventures were also lean financial times for me. I was paying off student loan debt from undergrad, paying for mandatory graduate school to keep my job, and paying off medical bills. But where there is a will, there is a way.  I digress. 

After dinner we parked further in the harbor and walked around in the tide pools. It was quite fun and just fascinating to the curious childhood marine biologist that evidently lived in both of us. We carefully moved from rock to rock, looking down in shallow pools of all sorts of sea urchins, crustaceans, and occasional rich pink and white-laced sea stars. We also walked a peninsula to Battery Point Lighthouse. It was a short stubby little thing, but quaint nevertheless with its little red roof and stout appearance. Around the lighthouse were some rocky cliffs adorned with patches of short pink wildflowers, which had to be rather tough.. We climbed around the small rocks cliffs and at one point stopped to observe some pelicans and another seabird, the murre, which was feeding and  would nose dive into the water, emerging a few seconds later to do it all again. It was quite entertaining to watch, and its maneuvers were somewhat comical, brandishing a few laughs.

 

As we walked back to the car, I noticed two dramatic government issued signs. One was bright red and displayed, “Danger, Deadly Waves at Any Time.” Another had five tips for surviving a Tsunami, complete diagrams and a footnote stating that “cold water can paralyze.” Warning signs for Tsunamis were new to me. That’s not something we see in Kentucky or anywhere in the Midwest. We do have some signs labeling tornado shelters however, and I remember the signs about earthquakes from my time in Mexico City but never Tsunamis.

After our enjoyable and chill evening in the harbor we stopped at a local Safeway supermarket to buy a few snacks. We purchased some cherries. This was starting to become a thing here on the fringes of the Pacific Northwest. Cherries would become increasingly popular and prevalent in Washington. We also bought the goods to treat ourselves with s’mores over a campfire tonight.

Mill Creek was a nice wooded campground. As we were setting up camp, Zach became frustrated trying to blow up his air mattress. I had bought these cheap eight dollar air mattresses at Walmart when I got out West, but I didn’t bother buying a pump. I’m always just used to using my lungs. Yes, it’s an inconvenience, but as already evidenced, I was a cheapskate. I’ll admit it does take a long while to pump up an air mattress with the power of one’s own lungs, and it does make me light-headed. I have to take frequent breaks, but it saves money. I don’t think Zach was quite ready for this, and I hadn’t evolved in person and character to the point where I could afford and pay for the convenience of an air pump. 

So when Zach was done setting up his part of camp, he was done with it all! He was done with the air mattress, done with me, and done with the day. A tsunami of sueño came over him, and he went right to sleep. It was still early in the evening, and I wanted to maybe go explore a trail near the campground, build a fire, tell stories, and make s’mores. I let him sleep for a while, then I tried to wake him. I documented in my journal that I tried to wake him six times. He would not get up. In retrospect, I understand that he was probably just very tired, especially after our two days of backpacking in the Redwood Forest, and it was likely didn’t sleep too well on the brisk Pacific coast. However, I internally was starting to become frustrated with him. Rest is important, but at the moment I viewed it as him wasting an entire evening. To strengthen my case against him, I started thinking how difficult it was to get him moving in the mornings. The poor guy was tired, but I was full of energy. These sort of trips energize me, and I’m always about packing in as many experiences as I can and seeing as much as I can.   Anyhow, I resolved that I wouldn’t wait for him any longer. I built a campfire solo, and I made s’mores by myself and then went into my tent. I documented that I had hiked 41.2 miles so far on this summer’s adventure including  a total of 12.5 miles with Zach. I then turned off my headlamp, let my head sink into my pillow and drifted off to sleep. I had a good evening at the ocean but had a pestering thought that Zach would probably be somewhat upset with me making the s’mores without him, but what could I do? He wouldn’t respond. I still hoped he was having a good trip.  

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Camping at Golden Bluffs with an Unexpected Visitor”