Crossed the Hood Canal Bridge this morning on my way toward Fort Worden beach and Port Townsend. The Olympics were sitting in the distance, quiet and confident. The air changed on the drive in—less road dust, more fir and salt. That’s how you know the coast is close before you see it.
I headed straight into Fort Worden once I got into town. Walked down past the old concrete batteries and out onto the shoreline. Tide was halfway out. Sand was packed tight and gray—good footing. The kind where a 5-iron moves clean through the air and you can feel the swing in your ribs more than your hands.
Took a few practice swings. No ball. There’s a freedom in the motion alone. I’d call the sand a 7 out of 10—solid but still holding some weight from last night’s tide.
A couple walking their dog asked if I ever actually hit balls.
Told them only when I’m sure I can’t go back and look for them.
Found a spot near the driftwood for lunch. Brought oysters I picked up along the way—grilled them over a small flame. Salt, smoke, and a little patience. That’s all a good meal needs out here.
Spent the afternoon wandering the old bunkers and hill paths. Places like this outlive their purpose, and I like that about them. They don’t pretend to be anything new. They just stand and weather whatever comes.
I’ll stay here tonight. Walk more tomorrow. See what the tide brings in.
Sand rating: 7/10 — good for practice, better for thinking.
– BG
Travel light. Swing hard
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