Aug 11th ??PM

[Pictures here.]

I love the fact that I don’t know what time it is, and could only guess accurate to a couple of hours based on the fact that the sun set some time ago.  Our progress took us increasingly into magical places, where time itself seemed to flow in waves like the tides that measure our journey.

But back to the day’s beginning.  After a leisurely awakening and breakfast, an even more leisurely clamber over some of the small sea stacks and tidepools made accessible by the negative morning tide, and an extended repacking and goodbye to half our number, I was stunned to find that the midday high tide had returned to fill the rocky bay.  At last we started down the beach. The tides are the only reason to pay attention to clock-time at all, as many of the headlands we skirt will be blocked during mid-afternoon’s high tide.

The clouds, perhaps lightened by the few sporadic attempts at drizzle during the night, had given way to a warm sun.  My pack felt heavy (it was nearly double my ultralight ideal of 24 pounds) and the beach was narrow and rocky.  We regularly encountered snags fallen across the width of the beach like whale skeletons, and we were forced to squeeze between these decaying ribs.  This only heightened the fact that we were free from trails and just walking on untracked sandy beach.

Seals (or more likely sea lions) sunned themselves on the tips of disappearing rocks until no rock was visible at all - just a seal floating on top of the calm water, holding head and flippers high to keep them dry until the tide irresistibly steals their claims.

A foretaste that we were in store for a steadily increasing dose of wilderness magic came as we approached a headland and came upon petroglyphs of orcas - smooth half-inch grooves in the face of a rock where the headland and beach meet.  The ancient markings looked practically fresh compared with the ancient landforms surrounding us.

Gen led us on a steep almost-trail toward the base of some rocky monoliths called Wedding Rocks.  The hands-and-feet path failed to place us at the summit, but instead wound between two of the monoliths and then stopped abruptly.  The narrow fern-filled gap was only a few feet wide, and faced a precipitous drop down the far side.  This summit proved just big enough for us to remove our packs and gobble crackers and cheese for lunch.  Our food is all stored in bear canisters, which are round and just the wrong size to get a bear claw or jaw around.  And also just the wrong size to handle with human paws.  We were careful not to let any of our canisters fumble away from us and down hundreds of feet on either side!

Sated and cooled, we descended from our tree-top viewpoint, availing ourselves of conveniently located ropes for the final scramble to the beach, which proved a bit wider and softer than our prior ones.

This beach widened even further at Cape Alava, where the water, protected by sea-stacks so large as to be given island names in their own right, became as still as glass.  What sounded like a motor we finally concluded was a constant hum of crowds of sea lions half a mile away.  The luminous mid-afternoon light reflecting off this mirrored surface, and the glowing of the humidity-laden air itself, provided an amazing foreground for the dark gray and green rock and forest formations offshore.  This magical glow would persist for the next two days - giving every step and action a fairy-tale quality.

Around the corner of the Cape, the beach remained wide and soft, tempting some of us to hike barefoot in the edge of the murmuring surf.  Time continued to ebb, flow, pause, to be measured in thoughts and light and feelings rather than in our everyday objective numerical quantities - a cause, or an effect, of an otherworldly aura that settled over the afternoon.

The tide was receding enough for us to skirt another headland, but a series of ropes leading up and over a narrow neck engaged our sense of adventure.  The far side of the headland increased still more in beauty and interest as the cliffs rose on our right.  Sea stacks rose offshore capable of inspiring Japanese gardeners to retire in humble awe.  As we approached the mouth of the Ozette River, seagulls and shore birds massed by the thousand.  The river felt warm and clean as we forded it’s modest flow with little risk.

As the north side of the river was our planned destination for the night, we headed up the beach to see what camping spots we could find, and immediately came across a spot more perfectly situated than we could possibly have envisioned.  It lay just behind the highest driftwood, with a view westward to the ocean and the Ozette River mouth, framed by a spectacular cliff.  The sheltered eastern side sloped down in a gravelly slope down to the penultimate bend in the Ozette River.  The camp site itself was a grassy patch between these two views, backing up on the north side to a point of forest. The spot was equipped with a fire pit, well placed logs for benches, and even a charmingly crude driftwood table.  We knew instantly we had found one of the best camping spots ever.  The universe had shown us where we belonged after a day far more strenuous than the mileage would suggest.

A quick dip in the cool river, a long stone-skipping competition, delicious hot soup cups for dinner, and a stroll down the beach surrounded by wheeling flocks of shorebirds, followed by an extended sunset, would have been sufficient to cap the perfect day, but we exceeded that definition of perfection by lighting a cheery campfire, roasting marshmallows, and watching the slow emergence of brilliant stars (a rare Washington treat.)

It was clear from the camaraderie of our party, the humor, and the frequent pauses to simply feel the wonder of being here, at this time out of time, with each other, that this was destined to be one of our most precious backpacking memories.

The closer we get the more the ancient landscape heightens our senses and lightens our spirits, in a way I’ve experienced only sporadically on other expeditions.  Does this Tolkeinesque spell flow from the reclusive Shi Shi Beach, concealed behind an impressively craggy headland a few miles north?  I would not be surprised to encounter elves tomorrow.