It was Christmas Eve when Tucker and I crossed back into the homeland. Although I had wanted to visit a few friends along Interstate 5, my fear of getting trapped in a blizzard or skidding across the highway in an ice storm changed my initial plans. Instead, Tucker and I hung a right at Olympia, Washington and headed for the Pacific Ocean so we could have Christmas on the coast.
Seaside, Oregon is just north of Cannon Beach, Oregon, one of the dog-friendliest beach communities on the western seaboard. Between Cannon Beach and Seaside is Ecola State Park, the place I planned to spend Christmas Day hiking. Christmas is about church, and nature is my cathedral—luckily I can find them most anywhere, I only need to figure out which one will allow my canine kid to attend services with me.
I have never thought much about lodging, seeing as on our roadtrips, Tucker and I spend about 9-10 hours in each one, sometimes less. We play, have a pillow fight, eat some grub, and then sleep. I don’t like spending a lot of money for such minimal requirements as a roof over my head and a comfy bed. But in this case, not knowing if we still might confront inclement weather, I wanted a nice indoor space to spend the holiday should the need arise.
The pictures looked perfect online, but the Google map imagery looked less than stellar. We arrived after dark, so although I could judge that indeed the interior was everything and more, I had no idea what outside would be like. Upon entering the early 1900’s beach cottage, I felt welcomed, as if the house was happy to not have to spend the holiday alone.
Seaside, Oregon is just north of Cannon Beach, Oregon, one of the dog-friendliest beach communities on the western seaboard. Between Cannon Beach and Seaside is Ecola State Park, the place I planned to spend Christmas Day hiking. Christmas is about church, and nature is my cathedral—luckily I can find them most anywhere, I only need to figure out which one will allow my canine kid to attend services with me.
I have never thought much about lodging, seeing as on our roadtrips, Tucker and I spend about 9-10 hours in each one, sometimes less. We play, have a pillow fight, eat some grub, and then sleep. I don’t like spending a lot of money for such minimal requirements as a roof over my head and a comfy bed. But in this case, not knowing if we still might confront inclement weather, I wanted a nice indoor space to spend the holiday should the need arise.
The pictures looked perfect online, but the Google map imagery looked less than stellar. We arrived after dark, so although I could judge that indeed the interior was everything and more, I had no idea what outside would be like. Upon entering the early 1900’s beach cottage, I felt welcomed, as if the house was happy to not have to spend the holiday alone.
I chose the upstairs bed (which was in one giant room the length and width of the bottom floor) because it had a window overlooking the ocean. All the other bedrooms (there were two more on the first floor) had no views. Tucker enjoyed the sprawling space and for a brief moment I was taken back to my childhood.
When I was little I had a Big Wheels that I would ride around on in the driveway. My mother was very clear to always tell me, “Do NOT leave the driveway.” Even though we lived on a sidestreet with no traffic other than the few neighbors who lived there, I was not allowed to cross the perimeter where blacktop ended and street began. So I would rev up and barrel all the way down the driveway at top speed (my mother’s heart racing just as quickly when she would see me do this), and then slam on the brakes at the last possible moment to be sure that front Big Wheel didn’t cross the line.
Cut to thirty-five years later: Tucker races across the large, slippery expanse of the hardwood floor in the upstairs room headed for the end that is an open stairwell leading down to the first floor. “Tucker! No! Stop!” I yell, my heart pounding as he slams on his own four-footed brakes and slides to a neat stop right at the edge of the top stair, just his front toenails dangling off the ledge. He turns his head to look back at me, big goofy grin on his face, and there it is: karma. Never doubt that the actions of your childhood lead you to exactly where you are today.
Honestly, I must have done some other things right because where I was, was stunning. This was the view I awoke to Christmas morning from my bed:
When I was little I had a Big Wheels that I would ride around on in the driveway. My mother was very clear to always tell me, “Do NOT leave the driveway.” Even though we lived on a sidestreet with no traffic other than the few neighbors who lived there, I was not allowed to cross the perimeter where blacktop ended and street began. So I would rev up and barrel all the way down the driveway at top speed (my mother’s heart racing just as quickly when she would see me do this), and then slam on the brakes at the last possible moment to be sure that front Big Wheel didn’t cross the line.
Cut to thirty-five years later: Tucker races across the large, slippery expanse of the hardwood floor in the upstairs room headed for the end that is an open stairwell leading down to the first floor. “Tucker! No! Stop!” I yell, my heart pounding as he slams on his own four-footed brakes and slides to a neat stop right at the edge of the top stair, just his front toenails dangling off the ledge. He turns his head to look back at me, big goofy grin on his face, and there it is: karma. Never doubt that the actions of your childhood lead you to exactly where you are today.
Honestly, I must have done some other things right because where I was, was stunning. This was the view I awoke to Christmas morning from my bed:
Due to getting to the grocery store ten minutes after they closed early on Christmas Eve, I did not have any big Christmas breakfast. Tuck and I had a usual one hour prep, a nice stroll down the promenade which was at our doorstep, and then we headed to Ecola State Park.
We were only in the parking lot, and the views were already glorious.
We were only in the parking lot, and the views were already glorious.
I had chosen a moderate hike (moderate for Americans, not Canadians… so, really, honestly, easy), which would take us down to Indian Beach which allowed dogs but wasn’t crazy crowded. I had seen signs posted saying that the trail was out to Indian Beach, but I thought that meant just perhaps one leg of it and that the rest of the trail would be fine.
Tucker and I descended into the fairyland forest and figured we’d just keep walking until we couldn’t.
Although we were in the woods, views like this were between the trees:
Evidently this tree home was worth making stairs for.
The trail took us out in the open in a rather narrow path, but opened back up enough for me to feel secure in taking photos and not worry about Tucker sniffing something a little too far over the cliff’s edge.
Only an hour in, we came across the obstacle that the signs had told of:
The bridge was definitely impassable--it was no longer attached to earth on the other side. But that didn’t make the hike a waste of time. I mentioned that the bridge was out to fellow hikers heading out as we headed back. They asked, “Is it worth it?” I replied, “Of course. The views until you get there are worth experiencing.”
Had I not at least gone as far as we could, I never would have been right in this spot to experience this from this:
Had I not at least gone as far as we could, I never would have been right in this spot to experience this from this:
Or this:
Or this:
Just because a road is blocked some way into the future doesn’t make the journey not worth taking.
In fact, due to our shortened hike, I chose to head further south to Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach. I tried to park close to the Rock, but it appeared to be all residential with no street parking. Again, just because a road is blocked, doesn’t mean it’s not worth going.
We drove back, parked at the nearest park, and walked. How could I complain? After all, my goal was to go for a walk.
So, Tucker and I started rather far away from it:
We drove back, parked at the nearest park, and walked. How could I complain? After all, my goal was to go for a walk.
So, Tucker and I started rather far away from it:
With something as large as Haystack Rock, it’s hard to gain perspective as to how far away you are, or how enormous it actually is.
Here’s a little way to judge. Those little lines in the upper-middle right on the edge of the sand line: those are human beings.
Here’s a little way to judge. Those little lines in the upper-middle right on the edge of the sand line: those are human beings.
Another even closer... but people just as tiny in the middle/upper right of photo.
Of course the entire beach was beautiful:
But Haystack Rock is a mighty impressive place:
Tucker took a quick nap in the truck while we headed back up to Seaside.
There, we walked along the beach in Seaside, also dog-friendly. Not as dramatic as Haystack Rock, but a different experience to walk through the trails in the beach meadow...
... out to where sand meets the sea...
... then back through the meadows...
and along the promenade.
After walking though woods, up hills and down, along the ocean and on the beach, Tucker and I turned back to our rented beach cottage to watch twilight arrive.
After dark, it was time for Christmas presents: the ones I had wrapped the night before. I tried to get a photo of Tucker next to his Christmas gifts in front of the fireplace, but he refused to get any closer. Evidently he's aware of his impulse control, and that's as close as he could get without tearing into them all. I have to respect the kid for knowing his limits.
I let him have one and put the rest away as not to tempt him. It wasn’t the most exciting Christmas, but I hope Tucker had a decent time. Christmas is for kids, and with how exhausted he was on the couch as I watched holidays movies that night, I’m guessing he had a pretty good time.
But our vacation wasn’t over yet… That was just Christmas.
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