The Dangers of Surf Exploration


Some beaches require a boat to get to.  I learned this the hard way a couple days ago, when I decided to bush-whack into a beach that had no trails.  I didn't go in totally blind though, I had done my homework by looking at maps, satellite imagery and shoreline photos.   Feeling quite confident that I would easily work my way down to this beach (which would of course house the next cold-water-pipe), I grabbed a hundred feet of rope, a machete, some water and put on my boots. 

Lets call this spot mushrooms, both because of the plethora of mushrooms in the forest above the beach, and the massive penis looking rock in the water behind it.  My entrance to mushrooms started great.  I hacked into a large open forest that gently sloped towards the water.  The only challenging part was that everything was dead and rotten.  Sometimes you would sink up to your knees in decomposing logs and litter.  I eventually got to a creek, which I assumed would end at the ocean.  I followed this for a ways watching the sides of the creek grow around me like mossy cliffs. 

The creek came to a halt at a bunch of fallen logs and I couldn't see any farther.  The creek itself turned into what looked like a slimy-grey-slate-slide, begging to be slid down.  Because it would have been completely impossible to climb back out, and I couldn't see where exactly I would slide too, I decided instead to climb out of the creek to see how close to the ocean I was.  It was a good thing I didn't slide down the creek because when I got to the top I realized I was sitting on a pinnacle of rock about 300 feet above the ground...  I was looking straight down this fucking thing, and it felt like the world had fallen around me (I despise heights).  Wasn't I close to the ocean?  I swear I could hear it, like it was right there in front of me...  I promptly shat myself and started carefully crawling back the way I came, feeling like this whole finger of rock was going to collapse into the ocean.

I eventually emerged back on the dirt road from my trail of death covered in sweat, rotten wood and arachnids (which I like even less than heights).  My heart didn't stop pounding for about an hour.  Time for a beer...   

Some beaches require a boat to get to.

No comments: