By Friday we’re itching to escape our city routine and fill our lungs with wild air.
We head north through a line of sleepy beach towns to Point Reyes National Seashore. We’ve set our sights on a one-night back-country trek along the Laguna trail.
We arrive in the warm afternoon. The sun hangs low and heavy over the Pacific, illuminating our hike with golden light. The trail is a winding gravel path leading to the coast. Beachgoers pass us on their way out, waving neighborly from rusted cruisers. If there’s one thing anyone should take away from life it’s that courtesy is king on the trail.
Once we reach the water, the path begins to carve between the tide and a line of rolling hills. The wet winter has blanketed the slopes with tall fields of grass and the even warmer spring has bleached them bronze. We reach camp just before dusk. The one-night trail allows us to pack a feast worthy dinner along with our drink of choice. As the sun dips behind the Pacific, bonfires illuminate along the sand. The full moon arrives along with a smattering of constellations.
It’s the adventure that takes us out, but it’s the magnitude that brings us back. The feeling that washes over us when we see the greatness of lady nature. Being humbled by a moon so bright it keeps you up at night. Or the inconceivable size of an ocean. When you can look in all directions and not see a single sign of civilization, you feel small. More importantly, your problems feel small. Worries are stripped away leaving space in our minds to fill with gratitude.
When we lose cell service, we gain clarity, we see what is truly important on this blue-green rock of ours and the simplicity is so damn satisfying.