“Curiosity killed the cat.” I have never put much stock in this saying, but it gets quoted to me with great frequency. I am a worshiper in the cult of curiosity. I have always felt that if the cat was clever enough, unfavorable consequences and death could be avoided. Perhaps that is the origin of the other cat myth, that they have nine lives. Maybe they need them because they are curious, and the ramifications of avid curiosity are sometimes unavoidable…
One gray hair
tide falls, leaving gifts
seaweed, gather shells, misty moon slides down
deer pauses, watches, still
I breathe out
Two gray hairs
sun rises
heron stands sentry, watches, waits
terns gather, confer, rise, sing, circle
I breathe in
Five gray hairs, a wrinkle
Spider spins, weaves, waits, still
tides turn, sun sparkles, fire, fades
Milky Way irridescent
I breathe out
More gray, more lines
salmon surge, leap, retreat, rest, wait
dry grass whispers to autumn wind, rising
I spin, weave, watch, wait
orange moon rises
I breathe in
I recently visited Second Beach, on the Quileute Reservation in La Push, Washington. It is a lovely and pristine stretch of sand, reached by hiking a gently meandering trail through a beautiful forest, and then descending down many steps to a stretch of sun bleached driftwood. I have passed by the parking lot many times, but I always seem to have limited time, or somewhere else I need to be, and the parking lot has always been full. The fact that there is an overflow lot, which is also usually full, has always deterred me. When I visit an ocean beach, the last thing I want to see is throngs of people. On this day, however, the lot had only a few cars, I had all the time in the world, and when I inquired with a local teen at the general store, he recommended Second Beach over the others, with no hesitation whatsoever.
The forest is mossy, full of nurse logs in every state of decay, trickling streams and filtered sunshine, highlighting the canopies of life above. To see a ten foot high huckleberry bush and ferns growing on giant limbs 30 feet above your head reminds you that there is a whole other world up in the trees…I kept expecting a spotted owl to swoop down and do a fly by, but no such luck…
I always start out with grand designs, but in the execution stage, they sometimes become less grand. In most things, it is usually good to have a plan B, and even C. In my case, I am lucky that the alphabet has 26 letters.
When I began my kayak adventure this morning, I had intended to launch at the confluence of the Sol Duc and Bogachiel Rivers, at a muddy little boat ramp under the bridge, where they join and become the Quillayute. My plan was to paddle a ways up the Sol Duc, float back down, then paddle a ways up the Bogachiel, then back down again to point of origin. In looking left and right from the bridge, the Sol Duc seemed docile enough. Where I should have been looking was right under the bridge…