Sea foam

I love to walk.  Every day my dog Jack and I work on our 10,000 steps either on the neighborhood streets or the nearby trails of Forest Park when we are home in Portland or along the beach when we are at the coast. Because of the damage to my prefrontal cortex from early-stage Alzheimer’s disease, I really can’t multitask at all, and I am very easily distracted.  Walking is when I do my thinking and planning.  There are few distractions.  I don’t listen to music or podcasts.  I just walk, enjoy the sights, and think.  Sometimes I will take photographs on my walks, and if I plan on a photographic expedition, I will sometimes leave Jack at home.  He doesn’t have the patience for stopping to set up a shot, waiting for a bird or animal to get in just the right position.

A few weeks ago I walked along the beach to photograph the breakers during the confluence of high tide with unusually large 10 to 20-foot swells. The Oregon beaches are beautiful, rugged, cold and dangerous.  Every year several beachgoers, usually children, are crushed by rolling tree trunks.  Sometimes they drown while they are pinned under the tree.  Even if they are rescued, they often have substantial crush injuries.  Many years ago, the teenage daughter of an acquaintance was killed when the tree trunk she had been climbing on was overtaken by a sneaker wave, started rolling, and crushed her underneath. We have always told our children and grandchildren (as well as visitors from places with gentler oceans) to never turn your back on the ocean and never climb on logs that have washed up on the beach.

As I was clicking off shots of the large breakers, I caught a picture of a very large tree trunk, at least three feet in diameter, just as it was hit by the remnants of a breaker.

I kept shooting as it started to roll through the sea foam and towards the shore at high speed, covering 20 feet or so in just a few seconds.  

Later that day I returned at low tide and found the same tree stranded on the sand.  Up close it was much larger than I had realized when it was out in the ocean.  I tried to move it and it didn’t budge at all.  If someone had been pinned under the tree, it would have been impossible for a single rescuer to get it off.  I hailed a passerby to take a photo of me standing next to it, documenting the size.

I can no longer juggle two thoughts at once.  I often can’t remember what I was thinking a few minutes before.  But I can still cherish the moment, watching with awe at the ominous power and beauty of the sea.