Woke before sunrise today, the light still gray and thin over the dunes. The surf was steady, slow, and heavy — the kind of rhythm you feel in your ribs more than your ears. I stepped outside with a cup of coffee from the cabin’s old drip pot and saw the fisherman from yesterday pulling gear down toward his boat.
He looked up once. Just enough to see if I was awake.
“If you’re up for it,” he called, “come aboard. Nothing wild today. Just checking lines.”
I didn’t need convincing.
Out on the Water
The boat pushed past the break, engine coughing once before settling into a steady rumble. Fog hung low across the water, thinning only in patches where the sun tried to break through. Gulls followed behind us, waiting for a chance that didn’t come.
For a long stretch, neither of us said anything. He worked the lines with steady hands. I watched the coastline slip by — steep cliffs, dark pines, the long reach of the beach curving north.
Eventually he said, “Most people come out here looking for something. Fish, quiet, sometimes themselves.”
“Which am I?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You’ll know when you get back to shore.”
No judgment in it. Just something stated by someone who spends more time listening to the water than arguing with it.
We hauled a couple traps, checked the gear, shared a thermos of coffee that tasted like it’d been boiled twice. He didn’t ask what brought me to La Push. Didn’t ask where I’d been before. Still spoke plain.
“Sometimes the person you save isn’t the one you think,” he said. “Sometimes it’s you.”
He didn’t look at me when he said it.
Back at the Dock
We tied off and started unloading. That’s when I saw the older man from last night walking down the planks — slow step, driftwood cane worn smooth from years of use. He stopped a few feet away.
“You have a moment?” he asked.
I nodded.
He didn’t introduce himself. Just stood with me and watched the tide move under the pilings.
“You carry yourself like someone choosing whether to stay or keep moving,” he said. “Both are fine. Just know your reason.”
“I keep moving,” I told him.
He smiled, not unkindly. “Sometimes moving forward is just another way of staying away from something behind you.”
He tapped his cane once on the dock. Soft. Certain.
“This place isn’t here to give you answers,” he said. “But it will tell you the truth, if you let it.”
Before he walked off, he added one last line:
“Wherever you go next, travel honest.”
Beach Walk
Spent part of the afternoon walking First Beach — driftwood piled high, surfers bobbing in the break, kids shouting from somewhere up the trail. The wind wasn’t as sharp today.
La Push doesn’t ask for explanations.
Doesn’t take more than you’re willing to give.
But it leaves its mark.
I’ll head out soon. Maybe tomorrow. The road’s there when I am.
Some stops change direction.
Some just reset the compass.
Sand Rating: 7 / 10
Firm underfoot. Holds its shape when the tide shifts.
-BG
Travel light, swing hard
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