Increasingly, I seek out places where I know there will be no other people. And increasingly, those places are becoming difficult to find. In a state as magnificent as ours, with so many beautiful places to visit, you would think you could go somewhere, a beach, a trail, a river, and have it to yourself. Not so much, is the answer. During the summer months, especially, everyone else seems to have the same idea. When I feel the pull for isolation in nature, I wind up driving long distances, and going alone. This drives my husband crazy. He travels for work, so for him, being home is a treat. He worries about my safety. My sanity also seems to be frequently called into question.
Last weekend, he and I took a road trip together to the Long Beach Peninsula, with the goal of exploring and hopefully seeing birds and animals. One of our first stops was a beach near Oysterville. This particular beach allowed for vehicles to drive on the sand. I can see the allure, and we did it ourselves as teens, in a jeep with big tires. At the time, it was novel and fun. Now, as a persnickety adult, I find it highly annoying. I wanted to get close up shots of the sanderlings, and as I sat on the sand at the edge of the surf, I had to keep looking up as cars approached, sure I was about to be crushed under their tires. The sand was all churned up, there was garbage, oil on the beach, and human evidence everywhere. I was on the trail of a particularly large flock of sanderlings, and had snuck up as close as I could get without startling them, when a little boy came up the beach on his bike, swerving and scattering the flock. I wanted to throttle him. We lasted about 10 minutes on that beach, and left to seek our adventure elsewhere.
We wound up at Leadbetter Point State Park, with the hopes of spotting snowy plovers in the protected breeding areas. It is not a long walk to the beach from the parking lot, less than 2 miles, but that deters a few. Once you reach the coast, you have to use the cordoned-off entrance to get to the beach, and the sand dunes are roped off as far as the eye can see in either direction, to protect the breeding grounds. Of the people that get to the beach, most look both directions, linger for a few minutes, then return the way they came.
We decided to walk a ways down the beach, and happened upon the carcass of a very large sea lion. It had apparently been on the unforgiving end of a freighter propeller, and the cause of death was no mystery. The smell was horrific for a good seventy-five yards downwind. So where did we decide to park ourselves? About 100 yards downwind. Of the very few number of people that came as far as the sea lion, not a one ventured further, which was fine with us. I could bird watch unmolested. I wondered about the many, many miles of inaccessible shoreline of our coast, and what other interesting things might lie in the surf, undiscovered. It makes me want to seek out those places even more. To discover the secrets of nature, the births, lives, and deaths of the animals and birds, to view those cycles in pristine environments, without worrying about loud voices, unleashed dogs, and kites dive-bombing my head. I will keep on searching.
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