When Chelsea suggested our group of friends go camping at Third Beach, outside of La Push, I was excited. The Olympic Peninsula is one of my favorite parts of Washington. Then she said we should build a beach oven and have a seafood bake, and I began to worry about the ways the project could go wrong. 

Camping at Third Beach is technically backcountry camping, but it’s backcountry for babies. There’s a pit toilet at the trailhead, but no facilities or potable water at the site. Campers have to bring in their own water, and bear cans are required. Then again, the trail from the parking lot to the beach is a mostly flat, well-groomed walk of just over a mile. Worst case scenario, we could make multiple trips to the car for supplies.  

In the days leading up to the trip, I thought of how difficult it was just to get several adults with different schedules together, and I questioned how we’d make sure everyone was prepared. Because of COVID-19, REI wasn’t renting bear bins, and the Wilderness Information Centers (WICs) were closed to the public. Who would bring the seafood, and how would we keep it cold? Were we really going to carry shovels and buckets in addition to all the other supplies? I committed to the idea that on this small scale, even a disaster would be an adventure.  

The parking lot was packed when my friend Ford and I arrived. Hiking in we passed shelf fungi the size of our heads and tiny ferns sprouting on tree snags, and my worries began to dissolve. Soon, Ford spotted the break in the trees. The trail descended a few root-covered switchbacks, and we were there. Volcanic rocks stood like shipwrecks in the rising tide, and sea stacks marked the southern end of the shallow bay. We found half the crew already around a fire they’d built in a pit that would become our beach oven.  

The logistics I’d worried about had been easily solved. Chelsea and Braden contacted the WIC folks and picked up bear bins. They also had water filters and a feather-light avalanche shovel. I’d found burlap sacks for the beach oven at a hardware store. Braden went to cut some cedar fronds to place over the coals while Ford set up our tent. Lainie and Bretton had already arrived and were chatting with Ben and Izzy, Chelsea’s grad school friends. Alex and Annie were the last piece of the puzzle. They were bringing dinner. We settled around the fire to wait. 

Hours later, we were still waiting. The fire had dwindled to coals. Chelsea dragged the fronds onto them, scenting the smoke. Sunset came and went, and we watched for the comet Neowise through low clouds. Whether or not the beach oven worked out, we’d managed to put aside the pandemic for a while. We’d spent the day moving between togetherness and solitude, each finding a way to recharge. Bretton took a solo hike; Chelsea, Ford, Ben, Izzy, and I explored tide pools; Lainie napped in the sunshine and fashioned some witchy art out of beach stuff; and Braden kept the fire going. Later, the beach oven project gave us something to think and talk about besides whatever worries we’d individually left at home.  

Finally, they arrived. Annie carried an enormous bedroll, and Alex had what looked like a Baby Bjorn holding eight pounds of clams and two Dungeness crabs. It was beach oven go time. Chelsea and I soaked the burlap at the shoreline, getting it sandy in the process. We laid the burlap with seaweed over the fronds and chucked in corn and sweet potatoes. Then the clams went in. Braden snipped the bands off the crabs and threw them on top. We spent an hour anticipating, laughing, and being together in a way that felt luxurious compared to pandemic-inflicted isolation. 

“How will we know it’s done?” I asked. 

“One way to find out,” Braden said. He pulled back a corner of the burlap.  

The sweet potatoes looked ready to slip out of their skins. The corn husks had a light char. The clams had opened. The crabs were hot. Well after midnight, we loaded our plates. Everything had a little bit of sand in it. We poured garlic butter on top and sucked down the smoked seafood and buttery sweet potatoes and corn, grit and all. Sated and happy, we cleaned up, doused the fire, and let the early morning waves shush us to sleep.

Originally published as “Beach Oven Adventure” in the Last Page section of the September-October 2020 double issue.

Nicole Hardina is a Seattle-based writer training for her first marathon and praying the circus reopens soon so she can go back to her new love, flying trapeze. 

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When we embarked on our 1,400 mile self-supported journey from Vancouver, British Columbia, to Monterey, California, last July, my daughter Julie and I were sure of only one thing: We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. But a month later, by the time we were on the Amtrak Coast Starlight from Salinas to Seattle, our anticipation and nerves had evolved into gratitude and new friendships.  

We were able to connect with some wonderful people and nature, using hiker/biker campsites throughout the trip. Our typical daily routine started with oatmeal for breakfast, packing our bikes for the day’s ride, taking a break mid-morning at a bakery or coffee shop, finding a spot with views of the Pacific to eat lunch (tuna, flatbread, fruit, and chocolate was a classic), pulling into a grocery store by mid-afternoon, and then riding to our destination for the night. 

We set up our campsite, bought firewood, and then Julie would disappear to write or paint in her journal while I would befriend fellow campers. Without a doubt, we were fast asleep shortly after sunset. We quickly got into a rhythm of life on our tour, which was all consuming in a wonderful way.    

We were able to connect with many kinds people and, of course, the beauty of nature along the way. Jerry and Rea in Elma charged us $5 for camping and gave us eight homemade cookies and great advice for cycling the Oregon and California coasts. Through Oregon, we cycled and dined with Chantal, Sonny, and Paul for about a week. All three were hearing-impaired. They inspired us with their gourmet cooking, kindness, and bravery and became great friends.  

When our friends Edward and Emily—another father-daughter duo from Richmond, Virginia— joined us for two weeks, we formed an awesome cycling team. A third father-daughter duo, Tom and Angela, rescued me on Highway 1, when I took a spill and Phyllis at the Tomales Bakery gave me first aid supplies—and leftover pastries for breakfast the next morning! 

My lifetime memories of our trip will be of Julie’s compassionate leadership, the many friends we made at our stops along the way, and the friends with whom we rode. I will always recall the stunning views, the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, the Redwoods and other magnificent forests. 

What did I re-learn from our bicycle tour? Resilience and determination at any age works! It’s okay (even good) to ask others for help. And finally, enjoy what each day brings—even if you’re not sure what it will be.

Pacific Coast Trip Planning Tips 

• Buy the Adventure Cycling Association’s paper map set and app. 
• Read “Cycling the Pacific Coast” by Bill Thorness.  
• Create an Excel document with a tentative day-by-day plan. However, hiker/biker sites throughout Washington, Oregon, and California do not require an advance reservation, and we had no problems with them filling up.  
• Test all gear. In the months preceding, we did two trial runs to local campsites to make sure our set-up was ready for the long haul. Our trial runs helped us dial in the packing list and allay our questions and concerns.  
• Trim excess. Nothing like a two-hour climb to remind you every ounce counts! Even so, we had about a 70-pound set-up each. 
• Preserve some space for grocery runs. Food is a central part of a cross-country trip and a great morale booster. 

Ken Robertson graduated from WSU on an Army ROTC scholarship and spent over 20 years in the Army, where he deployed in the First Gulf War. In retirement, he now enjoys yoga, cycling, swimming, and quality time with his wife, children, and grandchildren.   

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