Can't see the forest for the mud.

When I was four or five years old, I didn't really watch where I was going and I also rarely wore shoes. As a result I was constantly stubbing my toe, or stepping on a bee, or tripping over a sunbeam or some such nonsense. My mom nicknamed me "Grace."

One day my brother and I were at the neighborhood pool with my mom and as usual, I stubbed my toe. But this was no normal "ouch" and move on. This was a bleedy swolleny OWIE that wouldn't stop throbbing. Mom got tired of my whining and told me to stick my foot in the pool and let the chlorine numb the pain. Needless to say, her scheme didn't work, the chlorine pierced my wound like a poison arrow and I screamed bloody murder for about five minutes. From that day forward I kept my head to the ground and watched where I was going. So, I guess THANKS, MOM! is in order?

There is a point to this story.

Yesterday I drove out to the coast for a long hike up Tillamook Head Trail in Ecola State Park. I expected a little mud since it had rained off and on earlier in the week, but I didn't really expect the amount of mud I encountered. For about 80% of the hike I had to keep my eyes glued to the ground to avoid stepping in a mud puddle or twisting my ankle on a muddy rock. I was on a quest for Tillamook Head Viewpoint, but after about three not-entirely-pleasant hours of hiking I gave up, turned around and headed back.

I'm pretty sure I passed right by it on the way out. I'm pretty sure this was it:


I only noticed the "bench" on the way back.

Don't get me wrong. The forest was gorgeous. The views of the ocean along the way were spectacular. I had plenty of sustenance to keep my energy up. I just got tired of hearing, seeing and feeling mud. At some point on the way back I stopped caring about where I stepped and just let my feet go where they may - mud puddle or not. And finally, I was able to stop and enjoy the scenery.

The forest was full of fallen trees and new growth trees. These fallen trees reminded me of the Bay Bridge, as seen from the Oakland side:


There were also funny shaped trees:


The trees on the left looked like they were young whippersnappers busy voguing and having fun while the old grandfather tree on the right sternly glared with his arms crossed over his chest. (Or perhaps I was just hallucinating out of exhaustion. Do you see it?)

And there were tons of moss covered trees:


After the hike I sat on the beach for about an hour just watching the waves:


And that's when I decided that I needed to own Northern Pacific beach front property before I die.

And I also need to learn to surf. And go to Antarctica. And kayak in Alaska. And do about 96 other things. I came up with at least 30 sitting on this beach yesterday.

But liking shoes was not on the list.

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Alternate titles for this post:
- This is a long hike for someone with nothing to think about.
- Schplurgh schplurgh schplurgh schplurgh.
- This is such a long hike I've thought of 187 different ways to spell the sound of mud schplurghing under my feet.