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A Funeral for the Trees
Took place August 28 - 30, 2006Originally published April 12, 2007
by Jeffrey Pierce
There's a certain joy to falling asleep to the sound of the surf and the barking of an offshore sea lion colony. A peaceful satisfaction in closing your tent flap and saying good night to a starry sky, rather than turning off the light next to your bed. A cheerful patience to waking up in the middle of the night, not to the sound of a neighbor's barking dog, but rather to the chittering of raccoons as they scold you for securing your supplies against them in a hard-sided bear proof canister.
Sunset at my campsite at Cape Alava. (August 28, 2006)
I was camped at Cape Alava, one of the tent-approved sites on a stretch of remote Washington coastline and part of Olympic National Park. While the area is open to day-hikers, it's considered a limited-use area and permits are required for overnight stays for backpackers like myself. A "leave no trace" site, tents are only permitted in specific areas to preserve the foliage, campfires are discouraged and only allowed below the high tide mark on the beach, and everything that was carried in would leave with me in my pack. The trail leading to Cape Alava had been relatively easy, a 3.3 mile wooden boardwalk that, in actuality, was mostly wo-oden stairs, cutting across a fragile temperate rainforest ecosystem and the hills that separated the ranger station from the ocean. Day Two would find me traversing slippery fields of boulders, climbing a headland (a deceptively pretty name for a cliff) by rope with a fifty pound pack on my back, and trying to keep my balance over slippery flat rocks and beds of seaweed and kelp.
3.3 mile boardwalk from the Ozette Ranger Station. (August 28, 2006)
While backpacking is a significant part of who I am, this was a special trek. Not only was I hiking alone in a stretch of pristine wilderness, but I'd been led there by a dream. Months before I had a dream that I was sitting on a stretch of lonely beach, playing a small wooden Tibetan flute that I own, performing a ceremony for the spirit world. That was all I'd had to go on. A stretch of beach where I could camp. The sensation that the location was somewhere north of me, but not as far as Alaska.So the search began. I poured over hiking books and online logs until I'd pin-pointed the site. It was relatively easy to find, the only stretch of coastline north of me that was open to backpacking and camping. Initially, I was going to be accompanied by a good pagan friend of mine, but he was forced to cancel two months before we were scheduled to leave. Undeterred, knowing that I was called to the site, I submitted the necessary paperwork, requested a permit for one solitary hiker, and was on my way.