OMED: Michael O'Brien, once a star of classic Hollywood action films, now covers sports for the Tillamook Headlight Herald    (Photo: Publicity shot of Mike O'Brien during his days in Hollywood.) 
    
Are you fortunate enough to enjoy, or do you ever find time to go for one of those autumn walks that are all around here? On a bright, crisp, late afternoon. In the middle of the work week? Surprise yourself and slip away?  

Maybe you park and walk to one of our county  waterfalls. Or you venture to one of the state parks, where the sun is filtering through the trees as you
watch the ocean swells from high above.  Or you find your way upriver on any number of our local access roads and enjoy the sound and the sight of the clear water breaking over the rocks, changing its tune as you move along.
Perhaps you explore a nearby estuary and quietly observe herons, snowy egrets or Canadian geese in repose, taking their own afternoon off.  

Could be that you grab your dog, a warm coat and a treasure bag and head for the 4:30 p.m. minus tide, arriving at sea level with the bright western sun
exposing an extra half-mile of beach than you last saw from the spot you're standing now. The dog is away like a bullet from a gun. You follow.  Down to the beach, over some rocks and then, endless hard sand, miles in every direction. You choose south because there sits some normally unattainable reefs and land points, laid bare by the minus tide. The dog is a frolicking dot in the distance.

The sky encloses you like a zipped tent, dropping circular into the horizon in every direction. You dance around the many new tidepools, covering the beach like a maze you must negotiate, keeping dry feet all the way. As far as you can see, you are alone, excepting the dog and the air show of birds gliding through the expansive beach canyon, showing off their aerodynamics with rotating, effortless dives, torturing the dog.

The dog sprints another half-mile, toward the next available gathering of birds, only to spin and take off in the other direction, unable to fathom their game, tirelessly optimistic. You are amused.

Your journey, as it progresses, washes all the rigor of daily tasks away and at once, everything goes calm. The ocean's sound encloses you and as you turn and look back, for miles and miles, not another soul to be seen.  There are, some silhouettes, human forms in the distance, way out on the
normally-underwater reefs, digging for marine treasures but they are far out of range of the dog's voice, who has simultaneously spotted them. Shadowy, bending into the rockbeds with buckets, enjoying their own solitude.

Then, as it seems there always is, a golf-ball sized agate glistening, laying exposed for your  personal door prize, you slow your pace and find more. The dog stops and wonders what you are up to, from a distance ahead.  One whistle and she comes flying, a wide-open smile from the exercise. Straight ahead are the caves, only available a few times a year, depending on tides. Today, it's an easy entrance. Now, you are actually heading west, the ocean parallel to the north. As you look north, down the bank of seventh-waves that are now adjacent to you, a sight that is only for you takes your breath away. Rainbows are flying off the back of the waves, only viewable from the rocky point you stand on.

But it's time to head back. Or don a wetsuit. As you reverse direction, another bonus. The biggest full moon of the year, due to the earth's proximity, is now a giant globe, climbing the east sky, while the sun shoots pink pastels from the cloud bank it is descending into in the west.  Again, not another person in sight as you head back toward your destination, casually racing the light. You'll make it with ease. 

The dog is still cavorting, this time unafraid of the tidepools she skirted on the way out.  Plunging through them with abandon. Again, you are amused.  At the end, your ears are just short of numb from the cold, your face is flushed and your breathing is labored but strong. There are loose agates and unusual formations of weathered wood in your bag and a dog bath is now on the agenda.

That task accomplished, an hour later, the beast is out cold on her back, dreaming of birds she'll never catch and you've mightily reinforced your reasoning for living here once again.  It works every time. Do you ever find the time to slip away for one of  those autumn walks we have around here?  The kind you can only find in Tillamook County? Lucky us. 

© 2005 Michael O'Brien