Rest hike (n): coined by friends, these are the hikes I take on weeks where I’m decreasing mileage because I want to give my legs a break but still want some time in the woods. In general, they are no more than 5-6 miles at the most, are an actual hike and not my patented run/hike/death shuffle combo and don’t have significant elevation gain. They are also the only hikes those friends will go on with me because apparently I’m ‘crazy’.
As I drove towards the coast and my decided rest hike at Cape Lookout trail, I randomly started thinking about the dark times I’ve had on the trail. Those times when I’ve been in pain or fatigued or just beat down by the heat and how I have had very few moments like that since moving to Oregon. I guess it’s kinda hard to fall into such a negative space when you still are new enough to the area that everything seems like some magical Rivendell to you. The fact that it’s not 85 degrees by 6 am also probably helps. And I fully expected this hike to be in the same vein. Beautiful, enjoyable, maybe I see some whales.
Oh expectations. I should know better by now.
The hike to the Cape was wonderful with the requisite outstanding views and big, old trees that remind me how small I really am in the grand scheme of things (no whales but I did see a bald eagle).
On the way back, I texted a happy birthday greeting to a friend back in Texas and he responded with some very good news regarding he and his significant other that had happy tears stinging my eyes because I could clearly remember holding his hand 2 years ago when his world was falling apart, helpless to do anything but remind him to keep hanging on because I’d been there too and the roles had been reversed then as he’d been the one that helplessly watched me crumble.
Haha. Oh there you are dark spot.
We moved to Oregon because I’d felt the calling in my soul for years to move to the mountains. The calling started as just a ping, a ‘wouldn’t it be nice’, and slowly grew over several years. By the time we started seriously looking into a move in the summer of 2016, the calling had increased in volume and grown insistent. It was time to go.
Paulo Coelho said: When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.
In our case, the universe didn’t conspire so much as it came clambering, rushing, tripping over itself to greet us. The time between when we started looking for jobs and the time we landed in Oregon was 3 months. The time between when I accepted a job and the time we started driving across the country was 17 days. SEVENTEEN DAYS to pack up our entire life, get the house ready to sell, sell the house, find a new place to live and somehow say goodbye to the friends and family that have been hard fought constants in our life.
My family moved all over the country when I was a kid. Including Oregon, I’ve lived in eight states and on Guam (a US territory). The roots that were planted in Texas took years to grow for someone unused to consistency and almost a year after our move to Oregon, standing amidst 300 year old fir trees, I felt that same grief and confusion at how quickly I pulled them up.
How could something felt so right to me also leave me so conflicted?
The tears were no longer happy so I finished the hike as quickly as I could and headed into town to get some food (I am notorious for being calorically underprepared on my excursions).
After a valiant attempt at consuming a slice of pizza bigger than my head, I knew I wasn’t quite ready to go home so I headed to the beach.
Standing there with my feet in the cold pacific ocean, I remembered the other times in my life when the universe had pinged me and I’d ignored it, even when the soft whisperings had turned to desperate screams. How I’d scrabbled and clung to the way things were despite blatant signs that life as I knew had fissures getting closer and closer to my heart every day until finally, they gave way and the ground beneath me caved and buried me alive. How I still wonder sometimes how different things might have been if I’d listened and how I still sometimes feel like I’m scrambling to make up all the lost ground from having to dig my way out of the aftermath.
And how we are all so short sighted while the universe plays the long game and that every transition I’ve ever had in my life, no matter how painful, has lead to something better and deeper and stronger that I never in a million years would have guessed and that I’d committed to myself years ago that I wasn’t going to ignore the callings of my soul anymore which meant I am where I’m supposed to be, even with the confusion and longing for the people I’d left.
I do love this place.
Trail stats per the internet:
Trailhead bathroom situation: Porta-potties. I’ve been spoiled, apparently, with the luxurious chemical toilets at other trailheads. I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.
Length: 5 miles round trip
Elevation gain: 930 feet according to the internet but maybe that’s how high is above the ocean because I know I didn’t climb that much. The trail head is at 840 feet so maybe there’s a couple hundred feet of elevation change or something.
Difficulty: the internet says moderate. I probably need to learn how the grades are determined. It felt easy to me.
Mud level: Yes.