Lost Coast

 

LOST COAST

When you get an extra day built into your weekend, you take advantage of it. For me, that meant heading to Humboldt County and the Lost Coast. A good friend who knows my penchant for discovering new places recommended that I head to Mattole Point. Rough and rambling roads allowed me to find a place to lose myself.

 

 

 

 

Do you ever think about the things out there in this universe, on this planet, that humans will never see? Things that have already passed from existence. Things that will. I think about that, and I have to wonder about our importance.

 

 

 

 

A few small scale human influences on the beach: a pole wrapped in gauze, a bright, pink arm of tape fixed atop a branch, acting as a windsock: I'm unsure why people do the things they do, but I guess I'm no exception to that.

 

 

 

 

I set up early above the valley, determined to make a sunset panorama. This allowed me hours of relaxing. Snacking. Basking in the sun's surprising February warmth. And from far below me, the most calming music arose from the valley. I would've guessed it to be Indian, but really I don't know. I just know it was transcendental.

 

 

 

 

The weekend was pressing on, and it was the morning of my last day. I headed to the Avenue of the Giants, to quickly explore the Humboldt Redwoods.

 

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After two hours walking only a quarter mile loop I had to hit the road back home. I had a lot of driving ahead of me to make it back to Portland in time to get some rest for work in the morning.

 

 

 

 

I always seem to aim for Bandon Beach when driving home from the south. This time, there was no sunset. Thick cloud cover veiled any view, and any color. Instead, I simply watched a gray world turn to a black one.