We went to Rosario beach today, which felt like a visit to a long neglected friend, and after a walk on the south beach I had an impulse to climb the cliff to reach the trail above. I could have gone back on my tracks and taken the regular path leading there, but no, I felt like climbing, which I did. I had to cling to gnarled tree limbs for support, and finished the climb on my knees and in the dust to be able to push myself up to the top of the ridge. It felt really good, the physical effort, calculating the risk, looking for the best place to put my feet, and then once up I followed the trail uphill that followed the contours of the cove. All the smells, the Douglas firs, the cedars, and those crazy Madrona trees that grow on any surface, whatever the inclination of the cliff might be, adopting incredible postures to cling to the soil, the stubbornness with which they do so, all this was exhilarating. Walking in nature I guess must trigger the production of some kind of hormones that produce that feeling. I was going from one tree to another, taking pictures, stopping at the overlooks to watch the green waters below, or stopped every now and then to look up to the top of the trees and their outline against the sky and couldn’t decide to leave the site. I must have been a mountain goat or something like that in a former life.
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