The Day the Sea Found Me

 

 

 The Day the Sea Found Me

I didn't see the ocean until I was nineteen years old, and let me tell you, it was love at first sight.

We had driven up to Astoria, to Fort Stevens, and eventually made our way to a parking lot in Warrenton. I remember walking away from the car, crushing my way up and over a sandy hill, completely unaware of what was waiting for me on the other side. And then... the earth just opened up. The vast, endless waters of the Pacific stretched out to the horizon, and right there in the surf stood the skeletal, rusted bones of the Peter Iredale shipwreck.

The sheer magnitude of it hit me so hard that the relief literally fell me to my knees. I had never seen anything so massive, so beautiful, in my entire life. Something inside me just clicked. What made it even more surreal was knowing that a photograph existed of my mother at that exact same spot, taken when she was around that same age, back when the shipwreck still had a definite upper deck before the decades of tide wore it away. It felt like stepping into a piece of my own family history, a sacred welcome from the sea.

After taking in the ghost of that ship, we got back into the car and drove down the coast to Cannon Beach. That was the moment I saw Haystack Rock for the very first time, standing like a massive sentinel against the horizon. It felt like stepping straight into a dream.

My love for the Oregon coast had always been fueled by a childhood obsession with *The Goonies*. That film had sparked a sense of adventure in me, a thirst for exploring the unknown, just like the characters hunting for One-Eyed Willy’s treasure. But back then, in those pre-internet days, I genuinely thought the Goonie house wasn’t real. I assumed it was just a clever movie prop built on a studio lot.

So, on my very first solo trip back to the beach, I decided to become a real treasure hunter. Without Google Maps or online forums to guide me, I used the movie itself as my map. I sat down, watched the film, and carefully lined up the landmarks—the tilt of the hills, the view of the bay—figuring out exactly where that house *had* to be if it were real.

And against all odds, through pure determination and a bit of that Goonie spirit, I found it. Standing there looking at it, the movie came alive.

Life on the coast always felt like living in that adventure. Every day was a discovery. There is something magical about the way the mist rolls in, the way the waves crash on the shore, and the way the sun sets behind that massive rock. It’s a place where the forest meets the sea, where nature paints the landscape in rich hues of green, blue, and gold. It’s a place where you can breathe in the salt air and feel your worries wash away with the tide.

It has been five years now since I last stood on that shore, and at times, it’s hard not to wonder if I’ll ever see those waves in person again. But the truth is, once a place like Cannon Beach takes hold of you, it never really leaves. It lives on in my thoughts, in my dreams, and in the way I see the world. I carry the entire ocean right here in my heart, and that is an adventure that never truly ends.

Cliffs and danger ocean shores

OCEAN SHORES CONFERENCE CENTER 

The sun was shining, the waves were crashing – a perfect day for a walk along Ken Beach. My roommate, Jeff, and I were enjoying the quintessential Pacific Northwest scenery, laughing and talking as we strolled. Jeff, a formidable martial artist and a man built like a brick house, stood a head taller than my 6'1" frame. He was, and still is, incredibly fit and strong.

 Little did I know, this seemingly idyllic walk was about to turn into a terrifying test of nerve and friendship.

The Allure of the Ascent: Why We Climbed That 50-Foot Cliff

The cliffs along Ken Beach are stunning, rising approximately 50 feet from the sandy shore.

 We'd been walking for a while when Jeff, ever the adventurer, suggested an alternative route back to the road. Instead of walking another 25 feet to the nearest easy exit, he proposed we climb the 50-foot cliff.

Now, I have a slight issue with heights. Nothing debilitating, but enough to make me think twice. 

However, pride's a powerful motivator. There was no way I was going to appear less capable than my incredibly athletic roommate. So, with a healthy dose of youthful bravado (and perhaps a touch of stupidity), I agreed.

The Point of No Return: Panic Sets In on the Cliff Face

The climb began. Jeff, naturally, moved with practiced ease. I followed, trying to mimic his movements, focusing on each hand and foothold. There came a point, about halfway up, where retreat was no longer an option

. I'd scrambled over a section that was simply impossible to descend. My heart started to pound a little faster.

Then, at roughly 30 feet up, Jeff did something truly astounding. He jumped across a gap to the other side of the cliff, a leap that, in hindsight, seems almost unbelievable he survived. He then continued his ascent, leaving me staring at the chasm, paralyzed with fear.

My mind raced. If I tried that jump and missed, I was sure I'd bust my head open and likely die. The adrenaline surged, but it was quickly overshadowed by sheer panic. I couldn't do it. There was no way. I was stuck, literally between a rock and a hard place, cursing myself for putting me in this impossible situation. 

Going back down was out of the question; that possibility had vanished long ago.

A Friend Indeed: Jeff's Strength Saves the Day

I climbed as high as I physically could, my arms burning, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Jeff, seeing my predicament, leaned over the edge above me. He extended a hand, his powerful frame steadying himself. "Jump and grab my hand!" he yelled

.

With no other option, I took a leap of faith. His grip was like iron. With what felt like a monumental effort, he pulled me up, his sheer strength overcoming my weight and the precarious angle. I didn't scold him for getting us into this mess; I was just incredibly, overwhelmingly happy to be alive.

Alive and Grounded: The Aftermath and Michelle's Reaction

Back on solid ground, I was a bundle of nerves and exhilaration. My girlfriend at the time, Michelle, was working nearby. The first thing I did was practically run to her, shouting, 

"Tell Michelle I'm alive!" I recounted the entire terrifying ordeal, detailing Jeff's incredible feat and my near-death experience.

Michelle, understandably, was furious. The potential for a fatal accident was very real, and the thought of what could have happened deeply upset her. She was mad at me for a while, and honestly, she had every right to be.

That day on Ken Beach, when I was 23, taught me a powerful lesson about assessing risks, trusting my instincts (or lack thereof in this case!), and the incredible bond of friendship – especially when that friend has the strength to literally pull you from the jaws of danger. It's a story I'll never forget, and one that always makes me appreciate the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet.

Have you ever had a close call during an outdoor adventure? Share your stories in the comments below!

Fall": Friendship on the Fritz

Becky's World: Drowning in Grief.  Hunter's Intervention: A Radical Cure for Depression?  

The Unstable Ladder and the Question of Logic 

"Fall": Friendship on the Fritz, Heights That'll Make You Sweat, and a Ladder That's Asking for Trouble

Okay, so I finally got around to watching Fall, that movie where two best friends decide the best way to cope with grief is to climb a ridiculously tall, abandoned radio tower. Yeah, you heard that right. And while the views (both in the movie and conceptually) are pretty wild, there's a whole lot more to unpack than just sweaty palms.

At its heart, Fall isn't just about surviving a terrifyingly high fall (or, you know, not falling at all). It’s really digging into the complicated friendship between Becky, who's understandably devastated after losing her husband, and Hunter, her adventurous and, let's be honest, slightly reckless bestie. Hunter's got this "brilliant" idea: they should climb this 2,000-foot tower as a way for Becky to face her fears and, in Hunter's mind, start living again. It's like an extreme form of therapy, and you can't help but wonder if her intentions are truly pure, or if there's a bit of thrill-seeking selfishness mixed in.

You see Becky at rock bottom, completely consumed by her loss. Hunter swoops in with this crazy plan, framing it as empowerment. It makes you think about how we try to help our friends through tough times, and sometimes our "solutions," no matter how well-meaning, can be a little… out there. In Hunter's case, "out there" is literally thousands of feet in the air on a rusty ladder.

Speaking of that ladder… let's just address the elephant (or should I say, the unstable metal structure) in the room. From the moment they started climbing, my inner voice was screaming, "NOPE. NOPE. NOPE." This thing looked like it had seen better decades, and the fact that they not only noticed it was shaky but kept going anyway? That’s where the movie asks you to suspend your disbelief so high, it might just reach the top of the tower before they do.

Seriously, if you saw a ladder that janky in your garage, you wouldn't trust it to reach the attic, let alone take you halfway to the stratosphere. The movie kind of breezes past this, relying on the characters' determination (or maybe desperation?) to keep the plot moving. But as a viewer, it’s hard not to think, "Girl, turn around! There are other ways to process grief that don't involve risking your life on what looks like a strong breeze could topple."

But here’s where it gets interesting. Despite the "are you serious?" factor of the ladder situation, the film does a decent job of making you invest in Becky's fight for survival. Maybe Hunter’s crazy plan, as flawed and unbelievable as it was, did actually force Becky to confront something. Up on that tiny platform, with no way down, she has to find a way to live. Her grief transforms, not magically disappearing, but morphing into a fierce will to get back to the ground.

And let's not forget the twist! (No spoilers here if you haven't seen it, but trust me, it adds another layer to their already complicated friendship). This moment really makes you question Hunter's motives even more and highlights how their bond, tested by grief and gravity, starts to fray in unexpected ways.

Ultimately, Fall is a wild ride. It’s got those edge-of-your-seat moments that'll have you clutching your armrest (even if you're just watching it on your couch, like I was today, while it was conveniently raining outside!). But beyond the heart-stopping heights and the frankly unbelievable ladder, it’s a look at how friendship can be both a lifeline and a source of questionable decisions, especially when mixed with grief and a desperate need for change.

What did you think of Fall? Did you buy the ladder situation, or were you yelling at the screen like me? Let's chat in the comments below!

Kids Just being Kids.

 

Just being a kid was so much fun. I remember my friend Allen and I had many adventures. We had a BB gun club.

Yes, did we shoot outside? No, inside in the basement. We set targets four feet away on a metal table. Then we would take shots at army men or whatever and shoot them, being quick to duck under the couch, hoping there were no ricochets. Allen's common phrase, "Oh, my balls," was often heard. It was all fun and games until his mother stepped into the basement and said, "Is that my metal tray?" Then I said to Allen, "I think I need to go home and do something," and I left in a hurry.

That was a fun memory. I still hold onto it and will continue to, as long as my memory allows. That's why I'm writing this blog; if my memory is taken by another stroke, at least there will be documentation of some of the silly things I did in my life.