While hiking the coast of Washington, I had an experience that has changed me in profound ways.

I spent a night camped at what is known as the Chilean Memorial. It is where the eighteen people who died when the schooner W. J. Pirrie wrecked in November of 1920 were originally buried. I don’t usually believe in ghosts but I felt my whole night was haunted by them in a way I had never experienced before. I tossed and turned, continually waking with the sense people were calling out to me. I was glad to pack up and leave in the morning.

I had to get around a few headlands which had tidal restrictions. This meant I had to be around them before the tides reached a certain height.

I left a few hours before low tide and even though the walking was slow, I made it around the first two of these headlands with no problems. It was slow going because I was continually walking on rocks, some which were very slippery. I usually hike at a pace of two to two-and-a-half miles per hour but here it took me two hours to walk 1.8 miles. Then I had some sketchy rope assisted climbs over other headlands. These always slowed me down a bit. By the time I reached the water source before the Norwegian Memorial I had walked a bit over six miles in the hot sun and was ready for a lunch break.

It took me a while to find a good place to get water out of the stream which was trickling onto the beach. I had been advised to fill up there because the next five miles were dry and purported to be the hardest five miles on the northern coast. I was told I would be walking on rocks the entire way. I had already done some tough bouldering and so had visions of how hard the next five miles could be.

I knew I was cutting it close with the tidal restriction for the next headland but I didn’t feel like rushing. High tide that day was about 8.8 which was almost three feet above what was safe for walking around that particular cliff. I decided I would walk 2 1/2 miles to the headland knowing if I had to wait until the tides dropped enough, which would be about 6 PM, I’d still have time before dark to get to a spot where I could camp 2 1/2 miles further up the rocky beach.

Walking was slow, rocky and very slippery but I would not say it was the hardest I had done on that coast. While the entire 5 miles was on rocks, I had very little strenuous bouldering like I had done around Diamond Rock and in a few other places. Sometimes the rocks were covered by deep mats of slippery seaweed which made it even more challenging. I was sometimes walking in stinky seaweed up to my ankles, surrounded by flies, which stirred with each step I took. Still, I was relieved this did not feel as hard as what I had done in other places.

As I neared the headland, I met a hiker coming in the opposite direction. When he told me there were places along the way I could scramble up out of the tide if need be, I decided I’d make a go for it. I was partway around when the water started getting close. I saw one cave that looked like I could crawl up into it but decided to look around the next bend. There I was met with another rocky prominence jutting into the sea. I went a short way past this outcropping and saw water hitting the base of rocks. I knew I might still have time to get around since those rocks were a little bit further out, but I was hesitant to risk it, especially since I still had at least 3/10 of a mile to get around the entire headland. In addition, I felt a curious pull (from Chilean ghosts perhaps?) to experience what it would be like to wait out the entire tide.

There was a rock jutting out against a cliff. I was sure it was high enough to protect me from the incoming tide. I figured the tide would only come in about 2 1/2 more feet and the rock rose about five feet out of the water. I decided to clamber up on that rock and wait until the tide receded. I knew this meant I would have to be there for at least five hours. It would be about 2 1/2 hours before full high tide and then I would have to wait that much more again while the tide receded.

I clambered up on the rock, took my pack off and made myself as comfortable as I could for the wait. I felt some underlying trepidation, but I was certain the tides would not get as high as I was and I would be safe. The curiosity of what the experience would be like was strong and I actually looked forward to some time for writing.

This turned out to be an experience I’ll never forget. After I settled in, I spent some time just staring out at sea. It wasn’t long before I knew there was no way I was going to move off that rock until the tide receded. The water was surrounding me on my three exposed sides. I was glad to have a cliff behind me.

As I began baking in the sun, I decided to pull out my umbrella for shade. This helped immensely, and also came in useful as the water rose and the waves began crashing against the rock, sometimes splashing up to where I was sitting. I was able to tilt the umbrella to have it reflect the water away from my pack and me.

I spent some time writing and then quickly closed up shop when the waves began splashing onto the rock. I had correctly figured out how high the water would get, but I forgot about how high the splashes would reach as the waves crashed into the rock. I was able to slip my pack into a dry crack between the rock and the cliff, and I hunkered down, knowing the tide had reached its highest point. I was now waiting for the water to recede.

Feeling the power of that water all around me was really awe inspiring. I also found it interesting that I kept feeling a pull to go in. It was as if the sirens of the sea were luring me into the water, telling me “come on you can come in.” It was somewhat tempting. and I had to keep saying “no, I can’t.” Feeling that pull was actually a bit scary.

As the water receded, I did a bit more writing. I also ate some food and drank a pint of electrolyte mix preparing myself for the next 2 1/2 miles, knowing by the time I arrived at a spot where I’d be able to camp, it would be close to sunset.

I crawled up on that rock at about 1:15. At 6 PM I was preparing to leave. I could see I’d have to walk in the water unless I wanted to wait more. But the waves were no longer crashing against the rocks and I knew the water would keep receding. The force of the waves always felt gentler when the tide was going out and I had gotten well used to hiking in water while doing the Florida Trail this past winter. I made the decision to move on.

I shouldered my pack, clamored off my rock and stepped into the sea with a new, very visceral awareness of its power. I felt I had truly found my inner rock and would withstand whatever storms came my way.

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