September 16, 2023
Rambler
Nowhere to go, nothing to do — that doesn’t happen often in this chapter of my life.
I have the inner part of the island to myself. The way marine state parks work around here is that boaters show up and drop anchor, bring their dog ashore to take a shit, and then head back to the boat and spend the rest of the day drinking and eating and watching TV. The beauty of nature is but a backdrop.
Non-adventure travel — it’s the American way.
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This is my place. Not only this island, but this corner of the world. The more time I spend here, the more I want to travel far and wide within it, to know the trees and plants and animals better, to spend days and days and days outside in the cool, the rain, the wind, the sun.
There's nowhere I've yet found that offers me such a sense of peace. I'm beyond lucky. I don’t have to burn a bunch of jet fuel or drive a thousand miles to find the feeling of joy and calm I receive from the simple act of rambling along trails that, at their highest points, allow me to see the faint outline of the island I call home in the hazy distance.
I walk at a brisk pace with the smell of pine needles and grass toasting in the sun all around. At points the trail turns narrow and I scramble down shallow switchbacks between chunks of sandstone, taking great care not to twist an ankle or tumble my way into a fracture.
I pass through the thin strands of spider webs stretched across the trail. It delights me — no one’s been here today.
I watch two, then three, then four, then five river otters pop out of the water and onto the rocks on the far side of a tiny cove. They shake out their fur, sending clouds of water into the air, groom each other for a few moments, then slink back into the water with their long narrow tails giving one last flick straight up into the air.
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