Fort Stevens State Beach, Oregon Coast
Sometimes it's good to just sit back and get some perspective. I got that tonight, as I was doing my monthly beached bird survey. When I started doing these surveys I thought "once a month? No problem!" Well it turns out volunteering to do even one thing every month can be kinda hard for this girl. If you haven't noticed, it's already Jan 31 - the last day of the first month of 2011! - and I found myself rushing out of work at 4:30 pm to quickly do my beach survey before the sun set on January 2011. At times like these I wonder why I volunteered at all. I mean, the purpose is to monitor dead birds that wash ashore on local beaches, as a way to assess the overall health of the ocean and respond to catastrophic events like oil spills. As a marine biologist, I get it. Long-term datasets on what "normal" is - even in the dead bird world - is invaluable when something like the Horizon Deepwater Oil Spill happens. Scientists can tell when an unusual stranding event is happening and react. But when I'm rushing out at sunset, with plenty of other stuff to do, it just feels like more work.
That is, until I get to the beach. Then I'm reminded of how lucky I really am. As I prepare to get married and move (hopefully) in with John - probably in Seattle - I know that my time on the Oregon Coast - at least as my current permanent residence is concerned - is limited. The beach at Fort Stevens State Beach is long, flat, and wide. Sand stretches north and south out into the hazy distance, with the wild ocean waves crashing all along the shore. Tillamook Head peeks out through the low-lying clouds, miles away, and the mouth of Columbia River looms to the north, marked by the long jetty with saltwater spray bouncing off the tops of waves. I'm usually one of only a handful of people out on the beach - sometimes I'm literally the only person - and essentially have the big wide beach all to myself. Luckily the shipwreck of the Peter Iredale serves as a good reference point on this long beach. I can't imagine there are many places left like this in the world. As I walk the beach, scanning for carcasses (and glass balls), I get lost in my thoughts. The wind and waves are the soundtrack as I reset my mind and perspective. I gaze out to sea - sometimes there are crab boats on the horizon, sometimes pelicans soaring above the waves. Sometimes the wind is pelting rain into my face so hard it hurts, sometimes the sun is so bright it blinds. But every time I'm on the beach, I feel lucky. To have this place within 20 minutes of my house, to be able to witness Mother Nature at her finest, at the place where the ocean meets land, I am happy. The sand I track back into my car, and the wet rain gear and soggy datasheets are all byproducts of the lucky life I have.
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