(first published in the RV Times)
On or about December 24, 1542, Captain Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo shattered either his arm or leg (accounts vary) on southern California’s Santa Catalina Island. In either case, infection set in quickly, death followed shortly. He passed away on January 3, 1543, half a world away from his birthplace. The Spanish exploratory expedition had returned from a hard-fought passage to northern California and the mouth of the Russian River before being forced back by the winter weather. With his death the expedition’s leadership passed to his lieutenant, Bartolomé Ferrelo. Another expedition set sail in February, 1543 for one more attempt in the storm-tossed North Pacific. Despite the weather, Ferrelo made it here.
I’m walking the headland that bears his name. The Pacific lives up to its name this evening, the waters tranquil, the sunset enwreathed by concentric rings, the only clouds in the clear, placid sky. It’s a place for wayfarers and wanderers – including those from afar. The Arctic Jaeger is here. Less the German hunter and more the Caribbean pirate, it steals food from other birds. Its other name is the Parasitic Jaeger, and is considered a “kleptoparasite”. It’s not really a parasite, but it is a kleptomaniac, which, I guess, makes it a good pirate. Nevertheless, its long distance pedigree admits it to an interesting club.
The Hawaiian (Laysan) Albatross can be found here. Its reach is the entire north Pacific. Laysan Island in the northern Hawaiian Archipelago (close to Midway Island) is the heart of the breeding grounds; the bird’s formidable range is from California to Kamchatka. The Sooty Shearwater also makes an appearance. Perhaps the most wayward traveler of the three, the other end of its elongated figure-eight annual flight can be as far away as Tasmania.
The light fading, the tide rising, the sea stacks, cliffs and coves stretching from Brookings to the Pistol River country, seemingly endless, disappearing into the twilight. The Oregon coast is 360 miles long and can, on the world stage, hold its own. This segment may be the loveliest.
Samuel Boardman left his native New England as a young man as the 20th century was dawning. He worked as a railroad engineer in Colorado before homesteading in eastern Oregon, founding the town that bears his name. The Oregon State Highway Department hired him in 1919, and turned him loose in 1929 to manage and expand the state’s roadside park system. The rest is history. He started with what is now Silver Falls State Park and finished with his crown jewel, the breathtaking twelve-mile stretch we know as the Samuel Boardman State Scenic Corridor.
Exploring the headland above Cape Ferrelo, I’m dreaming, more than hoping, of finding Wisdom. Like Dr. Henry Jones – both Jr. and Sr. – my quest for illumination is continuous; however, in this case I am dreaming of encountering the actual Wisdom. The bird. The Laysan Albatross. She was last encountered in December, 2023 and was 72 years old at the time. If still with us, she’s now 73.
A lifetime on wing, she has logged over three million miles on her journey. My lifetime has been spent on foot; humans are meant to experience the world while walking. There are other wayfaring ways here; in a different season I would be watching the annual whale migration. Or should I say pilgrimage? It seems the birds aloft and the Deep’s denizens journey with a purpose. Shouldn’t we? Immersed in the moment, Ursula K. Le Guin’s words come unbidden: “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
On the Boardman, in the fading light, an evening enchantment settles on land’s end. Exquisite loveliness surrounds; realities – sized from inches to immense – appear, are sensed, and, in a perfect instant, become clear.
Boundless exploration is possible; every step taken has meaning.
