The Sea. (it's warm and it's safe here)

Hiked all day. Drinking beer and listening to the Tragically Hip. The greatest loss in America - they have no idea who the Hip are. I drove to Radar Hill, south of Tofino, about 15k. Parked illegally. I always do. I don't have to pay park fees - that would violate my constitutional rights; it's my religion.
I hiked down the trail to the sea, half an hour, very steep and wet. Kinda like Dagobah, but wetter, and with cougars. I was alone, so I strapped on my hunting knife. I might be a hippie, but if something tries to kill me, I will kill it first. Or at least wave my foot around menacingly...
Got some nice clay, about halfway down the hike, it's supposed to be special. I used to have some runes I made with it, 18 yrs ago, with a 'friend'; a loveley 42 yr old disney cartoonist. Of all the women I've had crushes on, I think we had the most fun (no offense to anyone). Hung out for about a week; swam, hopped in puddles, explored, skinny dipped at night in bioluminescence, made a lot of dumb jokes, laughed and acted like little kids.
As if the wolves of Northumberland themselves (were rumoured to be enroute). Or maybe a green star. I got to the beach and it is gorgeous!! Absolutley XY, Z fabulous! Picture a nice sand beach in Tahiti, except surrounded by old growth temperate rainforest, and - you're the only one there. Peace.
Miles of beach and shoreline all to yourself. No cell service, so don't 'break a leg'. But cripes, a person's gotta have fun.
I called my friend Maya tonight. She said she's bleeding like a stuck pig ( having her period) - painful, but healthy. How do men get that? For the most part, in our culture, they don't. I risked my life about 5 times today. Cut and scraped my arms and legs a lot. Bleeding is good. The risks were - jumping over things, chasms of sharp volcanic rock with a thirty foot drop to crashing waves and ice-cold water. Why? Because it was fun. I reserve the right to risk my life. Tonight, how do I feel? Alive, Fantastic. Rushing by the machine revving tension. Maybe that's a bad reference. ;)
So, the hike - must be done at low tide, or it's virtually impossible. East coaster's can't concieve of this. It's not your fault, I couldn't either. The first time I set out on this hike, in 1994, and failed, I had thought - I'll just go into the woods and crash through if I have to. Nuh-uh. It's just really not possible. Thorns and thick brush, with sudden drops, muck, and more thorns. Do it at low tide. So, I was rushing, being alone, and having slid down the muck slope from Radar Hill, the last thing I wanted was to get cut off and have to go back, and climb it.
There are two sea-caves. I couldn't get down, even at this low tide, but it would be worth it. There's a 10-15ft sheer wall on either side, waves coming in, and then the cave goes into the rock face out of sight. Too cool. Next time I go I'd like to take a companion and 50 feet of rope - to clamber down into there and check it out.
Ok, really: next time I go I'd like to take a lover and spend the whole summer, so we could have a week on each gorgeous private beach to frolic, sunbathe, read, drink wine, and eat fresh fish. An adventurous lover that wouldn't mind scaling into the mercy of the sea.
Siren,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
  I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
  And make my fortune there.
I must be won, that cannot win,
  Yet lost were I not won;
For beauty hath created bin
  To undo, or be undone.
Hope springs eternal. There's nothin dead down here. I'm not sure Persephone would agree. I walked, I talked. To the eagles, the sea, the imaginary cougars. I jumped. I walked across fallen logs over the rocks. I prayed to my God, in my church. I forgot my camera.
I saw Schooner Cove - the north part of Long Beach, a ways away yet. Stopped and ate a peanut butter and jam sandwhich, a swig of water, some grapes. Hopped along. Over rocks and seaweed, past joy, hope, rebuilding, smelling the salt, the sea, the kelp, hearing the waves, the rhythym of my breath and blood. The thoughts in my head; memories, forgotten hopes, voices, people, the myriad pictures of the great unknown of the future.
It was in Tofino, on Long Beach, at Schooner Cove, where I saw the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time. I was 20, 21. 19. Formative time for me, life-changing. I had (as I've mentioned) hitchhiked across Canada, both summers. These were coming of age rituals in the modern mythic tradition. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I guess I did.
On the last point, of course, I hit a cliff. No way around but in. Entered the jungle. With great fanfare and dissapointment. I didn't get far before turning back also sucked as an option. I did it anyway, thankfully. I got out and saw - it would have taken me a long time to travel that 300m stretch of bush. Backtracked, took a shortcut, on the beach.
My beach. Where a seal once invited me to swim. Where a kid from Nova Scotia ran every morning for two months, skinnydipped alone, and ran back to camp, started to see that the world is limitless; that he could do anything, absolutley anything - he put his mind to, started to see the stars reveal themselves, the awesomeness of nature, the tinyness of me, and the power that lies in that; the gift shop of life.
I got to the beach, took off my shoes and socks. Walked, splashed, sat down. Ate lunch. Terry came along, from Esowista. A nice young guy. He carried a golf club. In the other Long Beach(LA) there's a pretty clear use for that. There is here too. I had already put my knife away and was just carrying a solid stick. We chatted a bit. He was cool. He mosied on.
I finished my snack and mosied on too. I said, "whatever I find is for my brother". I immediately found an eagle feather. In the mail. It was neatly nestled between parallel sets of bear and wolf tracks. The wolf was alone, or so it seemed, and had been by recently. His tracks dug in deep, after the water had been out of the sand from the receding tide for a few hours. The bear tracks, no bigger than the wolfs, barely imprinted. He had walked along right after the tide had left that stretch of sand, when it was still hard like pavement. I saw his poop later, lotsa berries!
Why wasn't he salmon fishing right now with everyone else? Because he's young, stupid, and young. And he'd get the crap beat out of himself. So when everyone's fattening up for the winter on rich fish, he's eating berries and scouring the beach I'm on.
Sketchy. But fine. He was already by and I kept moving. Stopped and read for a while, saw a person in the distance, approached. Not a person, just a peice of wood.
Climbed French Girl Island - the little grass covered island with no trees on north Long Beach. Good view. Stopped at Dingo Cove, walked through the sacred rainforest and hitched back to my car. Rob picked me up in a 1972 triumph. My year. Drove me right to my car. Asked me if I'd help him tomorrow take his soft top off and put the hard top on. I said sure. Yes to everything.
I spent the day with the sea, the holy sea.
Being set on the idea
  Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
  Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
  Are predicted, and that you
  Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
  To pass for one of the Boys,
At least appearing to love
  Hard liquor, horseplay, and noise.
Two buckets of chicken and a drive to the liquor store?
Deal.
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
                   And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.