Once again, he treaded the endless expanse of beach, barefoot and unburdened by water or food. The weight of his pack seemed to vanish, lifted by the clear, warm weather and the cooling caress of the ocean breeze. Time was of no concern, and he strolled without haste.
He ventured into Manzanita, feet now shod in trail runners, seeking a taste of indulgence with a margarita and some carne asada. But the lunch rush intervened, cutting short his phone charge. A minor irritation for the day.
Yet, overall, life felt pretty good.
Leaving town on the Oregon Coast Trail, he decided not to tackle Neahkahnie Mountain. Instead, retracing his steps to the 101, where a warning sign spoke of a storm-toppled suspension bridge, rendering the trail impassable. The prospect of being stranded after miles of downhill hiking crossed his mind. Would he reach the beach, or would fate intervene?
Did it truly matter?
Unperturbed by the cautionary sign, he ventured onward, effortlessly reaching Devil’s Cauldron, a seemingly remote beach that to his surprise was teeming with people.
Another beach, another day. The cycle continued.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he sought refuge within the woods, draping mosquito netting over his umbrella as protection against a horde that never materialized, amidst the soft embrace of the old growth forest.
Amidst the untamed wilderness, he pondered the mysteries of his journey, the allure of the beaches, and the call of the unknown. Had he unknowingly taken the forest road? Had he slipped into vanaprastha?
#OregonCoast #wandering