Commit to Adventure

​I chose Pogonip Open Space for our first adventure of the day, a little park in Santa Cruz, bordering the UC Santa Cruz campus. The street parking was only 2 hours (4 hours if I parked a half mile away and walked uphill to the trailhead). I thought we could manage all four miles within 2 hours, but we don’t powerwalk; Tuck takes time to sniff, and I like to meander, soaking in the atmosphere. I could only hope we wouldn’t return to a ticket if we got back late.
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The trail at the end of the street started in the wide open. Signs warned of ticks, but the wide trail made it feel less risky. 

We were soon under forest canopy.

Even with the trees towering above, there was a glimpse of the farmlands in the distance.

And a meditation circle. I tried to walk it, but Tucker didn’t see the point when he could get to the center straight over the rocks.

The little canyon area where it stood was perfect for it. The energy was peaceful but intense. It felt like magic here.

We carried on through the forest, allowing others to pass us so we might take our time.

There was a small waterfall to check out.

And a place the map called The Haunted Meadow. I didn’t question its nomenclature. There was something mystical about the area. It emanated from one tree on the edge of the meadow. I could imagine that once the sun went down, one might start to see spirits here.

​Shortly after passing the meadow, I called it at about a quarter mile from the official “end” of the trail. It would have been a steep downhill grade to the trailhead then right back up again. I didn’t think the quick dip and rise in the trail for such a short distance would be worth the possibility of not making it back to our trusty steed in under two hours.

We turned around (always difficult with Tucker who needs a clear finish line—so I turned us around at a trail crossing), and headed back through the forest to see it from a different angle and return back to civilization.

(Tucker still didn't see the point of the circle.)

It was only early afternoon, so we went to Santa Cruz proper to find a bite to eat. Santa Cruz Brewery had gotten some good reviews, had some basic food, cider, and a dog friendly patio. In essence, it checked all the boxes.

I realized, sitting there in the complex of breweries, design, and bike shops, that Santa Cruz was the oceanside version of Portland, Oregon. It was certainly a bit sunnier, but the vibe here was very Portland. The state parks weren’t dog friendly, but the beaches and the businesses were. So, while not entirely ideal, I do hope that a gig takes me here so we can take a few months to explore instead of just four days.

After lunch we returned to Felton and took a stop at what is believed to be the country’s tallest covered bridge. I had hoped there might be an actual walk there, but it was within sight of the parking lot.

A family was attempting to get a photo, but with a child involved, it was taking longer than it would have with just adults. I waited it out some, wanting to get a shot with Tucker, but then gave up to walk across the bridge.  We could take a photo upon our return.

As we passed the family, they all expressed wanting to say hello to Tucker, but Tucker was too excited to get up the ramp and onto the bridge.

“There’s a dog who’s obviously been here before!” one of them said. I replied with, “No, actually. He just loves exploring new places.”
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Tucker practically ran into the covered bridge, sniffing and enthusiastically checking out the place while also heading toward the other end.

​At the other end, there was no more trail to follow. To our left was an equestrian district that pointed out “no dogs allowed” on a sign, to the right was just a residential street, and straight ahead was a field.

We got a shot in of the plaque

And we tried to get a photo with the bridge, but the garbage cans detract from the authenticity.

​So back we went, to where the family had given up hope on getting the child to smile.

They commended Tucker on being a much better--and faster--photo subject than their kid. What can I say? Tuck's a professional at this point.

And then they asked if we wanted a photo together. While not my actual birthday, I knew this was our one shot at a family portrait on our vacation.
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Tucker prefers me not to be in the photos with him, so it took some time for him to figure out how to work with me.

And then we finally got it.

This isn’t 45.

​This is the last day of 44... and close enough.

We returned to our tiny house (and big deck) to spend the evening having dinner, writing, and enjoying the forest from above.

​Tucker took a nap, but I stayed up with a glass of wine and my thoughts, to which I was rewarded with shooting stars.

I had accidentally and opportunistically made our travels coincide with the Orionid meteor shower which peaked on October 21st. 

As I looked up at the skies with my pup beside me, I thought about a conversation I had overheard on our walkabout at Pogonip this morning.

Two women in their late sixties or early seventies had passed us on our route going in (because they were walking, and Tucker and I were meandering). I had heard some of their conversation and I was realizing how age, the number of years we are alive on this planet, has very little to do with who we are. They were chatting like they were two women in their thirties—discussing careers, what gym would have hand weights, and how to get back to living after the pandemic. 

They had gone the full distance (downhill and back) so while we were on heading back to the trailhead, they were behind us. Tucker took a moment to sniff something so I let them pass, and while behind them, heard them talking about their lives again. One said to the other, “I thought I was doing well by starting to do walk and talks again. I thought that was a big step. But then Marge said, ‘I saw you on that Galapagos trip. You were happier than I have ever seen you. I think you need to commit to new experiences like that.’ And she’s right. I had set the bar too low. I was happy then. I need to commit to adventure every day.”

Commit to adventure every day.
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It was something I, too, needed to do. Not just for me, but for Tucker. Our day had been filled with adventure. And while we can’t make every day a vacation, we can commit to new experiences and doing something meaningful every day.

So as the clock turned to midnight and I watched for shooting stars, I didn’t just wish but made a commitment: I commit to adventure every day. I will seek out new experiences to try new things and explore and visit old places to see them anew. Life may be short in years, but it can be long and meaningful when you make every moment last and every day an adventure.