Hidden Beach

We were trying to find lost coast and we thought this was it. It’s remotely beautiful. (A good day to us while on the road would be: OMG! I got 4G LTE!)

Why are you called Hidden Beach when you so obviously wish to be found?
Is it that you fear commitment? Or that you are shy about being so beautiful? You’re very far away from the world up there, but you’re not that distant, either. Those who wish to find you can do so quite easily. I’ve been with you twice, after all, and the second time was a threesome. It was cold, wet, and wild — both times.
Do you still remember how we first met? It was January of last year. I was alone, you were alone, and then I found you, and you found me, and just like that, there we were — all alone together. I arrived from the North, along the Yurok Loop Trail. You were covered in driftwood, and the tide was high, and the surf was pounding, so I didn’t see much of your sand that magical morning. But your curves and cliffs and islands in the mist were ravishing, and I wanted so much to linger a little longer, but I needed to move on. You weren’t my only hike that day, you know. So I left, while you stayed behind.
But I never forgot the time we spent together.
And so, I returned: eleven months later, coming from the South this time, along the Coastal Trail from the Klamath Overlook. But I wasn’t alone, was I? That next time we met, I brought company. It was so much different the second time. It was late December, you were at low tide, with your starfish and anemones all exposed. I almost wanted to walk out to your famously photogenic pine tree island, but then the waves rolled in, leaving me stranded on the rocks until the water receded and I jumped back to safety. But you were still so incredibly beautiful, so green, so lush, so covered with driftwood and stone: so sleek and slick and sensuous. And the sun was setting, do you recall? We had to rush back to avoid getting lost in the woods, and dinner was waiting for us at the Requa Inn, and we were cold, wet, and weary. No time to take pictures, even. All I could find of you were images that others had taken. And these are just not the same.
Why didn’t you return with us that night? Just one night, it wouldn’t have killed you. But once again it was you who stayed behind, hidden from view. Like you always are, in the end. It’s as if a veil of silence came over you, and then it was dark and you were gone and we were gone and we have never met again. But we will, in time, when the seasons change and waves and tides are right. Do you know why? Because I think you’ve got a secret. I think that, deep down, you don’t want to be a hidden beach at all. Deep down, you want nothing more than to be found.