Standing 100 yards out on the lowtide awash sand at Deadmans Hollow, under a starless midnight sky with Liz, I took a second to focus on a few deep inhales. The beauty was whelming. The silence bore the speech of the sea. Liz felt it – A powerful energy in the air encompassing a balancing respect for times-gone-by and hope. Two dueling lighthouses swept the breakers and sea beyond: North Head and Cape Disappointment Lighthouse. We hadn’t seen each other in 4 years, and we’d not stopped talking since PDX, but here there was a mutual pleasure in the sounds of each other’s silence. I liked Liz for this reason, and other reasons.
I had been on this beach four nights before solo, drinking a few beers and sitting naked in the hightide sands under Pleiades, oblivious to aton. There is nothing I find but appreciation and curiosity for the juxtapositions simple things can influence in our thought processes. On this night, I went to bed content and inspired by the ambiance, Liz by my side.
But I couldn’t sleep. The night through I listened to the silence and two separate breaths. The back of my Rav-4 was cozy, but something outside seemed magnetic, and it was when the rain started to fall that I knew I wouldn’t sleep. Might as well run.
I decided North Head Lighthouse was much closer, and I’d already inspected the cliffs to the North and found no passage through. I ran south along the campground road, and eventually found a sign that said North Head Trail. Sheltering under magnificent pines, between down pours, I jogged as fast as I could through that forest, slowed in speed by massive root systems and ferns, but amped up by some mystic nostalgic vibe. My headlamp started going dim by the time I made the lighthouse, but I wasn’t concerned, I was thankful for the reminder to embrace the world as it is, without tools to “improve it.” At the lighthouse I found no sense of awe or desire. I was wet and starting to get chilled. My night run had been roughly 3 miles at that point and I’d need to take the roads back to the camp and I had no idea how long that’d take. My energy was fading but my spirit was content with something similar to happiness.
I was on a main road with a slight downhill grade. It was as dark as night can get. The unmistakable growl of an approaching engine was in the distance, switching gears fast, up and down. Soon I could see headlights from around the corner behind me. I stepped off the road, wearing nothing but shorts and running shoes and a wifebeater, drenched. The pickup slowed as it went by me, then sped on its way. I made out a middle-aged man in the front seat. There was nothing ahead but a deserted campground and US Coast Guard Station Cape D. A second speeding car passed me 5 minutes later; this one didn’t see me.
Back at the car I didn’t want to wake Liz. I fired up the Coleman and put on the coffee. It was approaching 0500. I walked back out to the beach and thought I might see a 47’. I didn’t. I was too cold to sit, and I closed my eyes each time I sipped at my cup-a-Joe…
I worry about cliches. I loose sleep over my thoughts. I worry about those who celebrate mediocracy – one day each of us will loose everything we’ve ever come to know and love, everything. I worry about platitudes. I worry about my own ego – is it too big? Is it real? What’s real? I’m bothered by a lot of stimulants, echoes particularly…
My buddy Lenny used to tell me Cape D stories back when we used to be stationed together. I guess it was there I gained some interest in the place. Through reading maritime literature, history and biography, and aging, I’ve come to appreciate the Columbia River Bar much more. It’s a dangerous place. Scenic, more than any other, and more dangerous than many of us know to consider – even in this modern era.
When Lenny posted a book recommendation online – Life and Death at Cape Disappointment – of course I bought it. But I wasn’t looking forward to reading it. The cover had that cliché feel to it. And the content, I thought, must be standardized modern hero culture. It sat on my shelf for months, until it became one of those books I randomly grabbed as I ran out the door… Then… I read it in two sittings, couldn’t put the thing down.
Christopher D’Amelio used to run the forest trails in Cape Disappointment. He spent some great deal of time on the jetties, beaches and cliffs in that part of the world. He also spent more than his share of time on Coast Guard rescue boats there. His book is built sea-story by sea-story, or rescue by rescue. It’s chapter driven in that way. But D’Amelio uses an undercurrent of themes that separate his book from the standard hero-culture and sensationalist publications that Amazon will suggest for you. He dives into his own psychology and he questions the status quo. What D’Amelio leaves out (although it’s always on the tip of his pen) brings a bit of suspense into the reading.
I appreciate the work D’Amelio did at Cape D, it’d be hard not to. And I admire him for the way he spins his yarns. I hope sharing his story with the world has also shared some of the weight he must carry. Maybe his past shipmates found some relief in it too(?).
Check out his book to gain insight into Coast Guard Hero Culture, from an inside POV. Check out his book for insight in the life and duties of a CG surfman. Check out his book for a collection of great sea-stories, as dark as they are. Check out his book to familiarize yourself with the Columbia River Bar and Cape Disappointment.
Thanks Christopher D’Amelio.
Salute.
… It was 0700 when I finally woke Liz. She seemed to have the chills under the blankets, so I stripped and snuggled up to her. She let out a squeal as my light blue skin touched hers. It took 15 minutes for our body temps to equalize. 30 minutes later she remembered we were in a new place, a forest in the PNW, and she looked out the window.
“It’s so beautiful out there.”
“We should hike out to the lighthouse today?” I responded.
“Yeah. I’d like that. How’d you sleep?”
