Saturday, 11-Nov-2023


After a day hiking out in the Snow on Mt. Hood, I felt the need to switch it up, and embrace one of the many excellent attributes of Oregon. I felt the need to go to the beach.

The morning found me brunching at a new spot in town, which has the best BLTs I’ve had in years, sipping a latte and getting myself ready for the adventure. I wasn’t running; instead, I was aiming for a later start than normal with a goal of finishing my walk after dark had fallen on the beach.

Not quite sure why I had this goal, but… you know what, we embrace the gut feelings that we’ve got, and sometimes we find some excellent adventures along the ride.



This time was one of those times.

I got to Cannon around… 2:00, maybe? With approximately three hours left before sunset. I mean, less… but three hours of light, at least. My goal was to use all that light up walking outbound – then, I’d turn around once the sun was down, trekking my way back in the dark.

The plan went smoothly. The tide was out (not a surprise, that was why I went on Saturday, vs. Friday or Sunday), so I had an endless beach surrounding me to walk on. The sand was well-packed, the views were beautiful, and I even flew the drone a bit to get some pictures of myself.

The sun dipped down, then fully sank below the horizon, and I turned back to town and warmth.

The hike back was glorious. I’ve spoken about hiking after dark before, how your whole world condenses and focuses down to a small pool of warm light, shining from a headlamp into the darkness… this was absolutely one of those times. The endless beach surrounding me, the light fog rising up from the warm sand into the cold night air, the immense distance between surf and full shore… I legitimately couldn’t tell where the sand ended and the sky began. 

My world wasn’t just focused into the thin ray of my headlamp… it devolved and unfocused into a well of grey. The sand, the horizon, the sky… I couldn’t tell the difference. I had to check my GPS every so often to make sure I was still moving, still heading toward my destination… still on Earth, even.


It gave me space to think, to disconnect, and to let my thoughts wander. 

I could have strayed further toward the surf, or to the shoreline, to get a handrail for my senses… but I chose not to. I was enjoying this sense of limbo, of slowly walking through the infinite plains of purgatory. It lasted long enough for me – The lights of town started shining through the fog just as my mind was starting to miss the stimulation of the world.

It was lovely.