David Campiche photos
Two vantage points show the sunset refl ecting off Indian Beach in Ecola State Park.
Continued from Page 18
the most loyal rain-heads.
We know the enveloping sensation: at
times a sou’wester materializes into sod-
den, rain soaking discomfort.
But would you rather seek residence in
Death Valley? I was there early this fall.
There were few clouds in the desert sky;
no moisture in the mouth. Two-hundred
feet below sea level, the ground was dry,
hot and threatening. This is lizard coun-
try. The heat can snarl out at 130 degrees.
It was beautiful in its severe penetrating
way. After three days, I missed home.
The skies dumped inches of rain last
week. Any depression fi lled with rainwa-
ter. The spruce trees in our yard sighed in
relief. Last winter, warm dry temperatures
encouraged the migration of millions of
aphids and severely wounded the noble
pines. The winter was mild and that felt
good, but it wasn’t us.
So my friends travel to our rain land
and stand gaping as the Pacifi c Ocean
plays water ballet. We walk on Ben-
son Beach at Cape Disappointment State
Park. Well, not quite—a 10-foot tide soon
pushes us onto higher ground.
The cameras come out. As the tide
pulls away, I scurry onto the gray, pew-
ter-stained sands and shoot away. Flotsam
and sea spray litter the beach.
High on a cliff, Cape Disappoint-
ment lighthouse stands forlornly against
the storm. The shore pines, shaped by
decades of wind, have tucked into the
thin soils that are carried on ocean cur-
rents. They seek shelter in any cranny or
depression in the lava rocks that created
this headland tens of millions of years
ago.
A tourist stands on land’s end and
takes a selfi e. I feel violated. Shoot your-
self with a camera when God is per-
forming. Please, no. Instead, choose to
sing out to the force, or to the indomi-
table storms created by competing cur-
rent: warm air, cold air, the stir of earth
forces—Incroyable. The wind blows
away our words.
Today, even the seabirds seem to have
fl own south or are nestled into shelters
beyond our reach.
My friends hold hands and seem sud-
denly drawn into a partner’s embrace.
Natural beauty can do that; can draw us
together into companionship that speaks
of survival and something far beyond.
Something undefi nable.
Just offshore, over a century or more,
200 ships were scuttled by errant winds
and mounting combers. Here is the infa-
mous Peacock Spit and that shallow water
grave defi ned by mariners as The Pacifi c
Graveyard. We are safe in our down coats
and rubber boots. Offshore, men on their
doomed vessels prayed for life.
I feel grateful, safe and sound. I won-
der if all this magnifi cent passion, this
powerful storm, doesn’t deserve an adu-
lation, an offering to whatever god you
or I might choose. I pray to the force that
swirls in a universe impossible to fully
discover or envision.
The rain sweeps back upon us and we
retreat to the safe confi nes of our 20th
century miracle: the automobile, the same
invention whose emissions threaten, at
this very moment, our fragile planet.
The landscape doesn’t feel particularly
fragile on such a day. We drive home and
concoct a chowder of razor clams that
we dug only two nights before. We are
very happy. My visitors remain elated by
the comfort of a hot kitchen, the sublime
smells of food wafting, and the storms of
winter, forever ours.
THREE
TOGETHER
ACOUSTIC TRIO
With GRAMMY Award
winning Guitarist
DOUG SMITH
FEBRUARY 15 • 7 pm
Peoples Choice Award. Florence Folk Festival.
Doors Open 6:30pm
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THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2020 // 19