The Call of Adventure: The Pacific Northwest and British Columbia

Dear Readers, how I have missed you! I have not been absent without reasons, and my heart easily recalls them – adventure, beauty, inspiration, renewal, and history. My husband and I recently returned from a month-long trip through the Pacific Northwest and Canada, and though I have always prided myself on my ability to express myself through words I’m afraid this time they fail me.

I can say that our journey wound us through some of the most stunning land in the United States and perhaps starting with the route would be the easiest entry into putting the trip into verbal form. After several days with friends and family in Los Angeles and San Diego, we flew to Portland, Oregon to ignite our sojourn. From Portland we traveled through Hood River, Mount Hood, the Quinault Indian Reservation, Forks (Washington) the Olympic National Forest, La Push Indian Reservation, Lake Crescent, Port Angeles, Victoria (Canada), the San Juan Islands, Vancouver (Canada), Seattle, and back to Portland.

In these places we felt the spirit of all of the explorers that preceded us, though they were a million times more brave facing harsh winters and unknowns around every river bend. We also discovered the Native tribes thriving in the region and yet still facing the plight of the salmon as well as land rights issues. We saw waters so clear and blue they could have been swimming pools, and we stared up at waterfalls so tall we had to strain our necks to see the top.

Something has infused the Pacific Northwest with the call of adventure and every day that we awoke we just had to answer. Again I am at a loss for words to describe all that we saw, did, and experienced, but I will be selective so that I do not overwhelm my own soul with the memories. What comes to mind, if I have to choose was the night we spent at the Quileute Reservation for Quileute Days, a festival celebrating the tribe and sharing its traditions with visitors.

After a day at the Sol Duc Hot Springs we drove the fourteen miles off Highway 101 to La Push, a small coastal village belonging to the Quileute tribe. I grew up in Southern California but I had never seen beaches so haunting, so ethereal. Sea stacks rose up forbiddingly in the distance and beckoned me out to see the waters lashing against them. When we reached La Push I settled into comfort; a feeling of home came over me as soon as we drove into its borders.

The evening was enchanted from the beginning as we walked through the tribal community center. As soon as we opened the doors our lungs pounded with the sound of drums. The locals were playing stick games, a traditional betting game played through rhythm. Everywhere signs of tradition mixing with modernity greeted us, a heady reminder not to relegate Native tribes to the past. They are alive and well.

We walked through the village, poking around the vendor booths, and wandering through the marina where old boats with rust and chipping paint sat parked beside yachts gleaming white. This was a working marina where Quilete fishermen prepared for salmon fishing daily through weather that would make most of us suicidal. We stopped in to talk to tribal elders Pete and Beverly and meet a young Quileute named Darryl who said he was studying to be a chef. After listening to their cheerful descriptions of what the tribe had to offer they invited us to a ceremony at 9pm, the blessing of a new cabin they said. We accepted with gratitude and looked at our wathces; time to eat before darkness fell.

We had dinner at the River’s Edge, the only restaurant in town, and watched the fog continue to roll in as sea birds chased each other and competed for the evening meal. Service was slow that night because the restaurant had an honored guest. I didn’t know who he was but all the elders came to join him. We ate in wonder and the server told us not to miss the fireworks. I didn’t plan to.

Close to 9pm we made our way toward the designated ceremony spot, walking along the beach. Campfires lit up the twilight like fireflies all along the sand and I longed to join them. I could feel the excitement of the evening building and giving me an electric energy. As we approached the cabin a woman named Anna Rose came to greet me. Her smile still flashes in my mind as she welcomed us, directing us where to stand. Cameras and microphones surrounded the event and I wondered why. I was about to find out.

The ceremony started with a blessing, a mixture of Christian prayers and the drumming of a Quileute song, reminding me again to pay attention to the complexity of the tribe, not my own vision of chiefs in colorful headdress. All of a sudden Anna Rose introduced Gil Birmingham, the actor who plays Billy Black in the Twilight movies. That explained the cameras and microphones! He had also been the honored guest at the restaurant. He made a meaningful speech about how the world can finally know of the culture of the Quileute, a real community with richness beyond measure. The movies did provide that igniting spark. I only hope people want to learn more. I had my picture taken with him because hey, it was neat.

After walking through the cabin we said goodbye to everyone and made our way to a small outdoor deck to watch the fireworks. They exploded above us as if to capture my excitement and showered green, red, silver, and green down onto the land. After the grand finale the shy Darryl came running up to us, eyes wide open.

“Wasn’t that great!?” he exclaimed.

Yes, it most certainly was.

The call of adventure that seeped through me all throughout the Pacific Northwest reminded me of one thing. We have a choice to make creative adventures of everything we do. An evening at home can turn into an art project, a music festival, a dance around the living room, or an epiphany about your life. A day at work can be a new translation of an old skill set, having an impact on a person’s day, or discovering a gift you always had but didn’t know it.

I invite you to internalize the call of adventure, listen for its song. If you have even a brief moment in time, answer the call.

Stay tuned for an entry on the Zen definition of suffering and how it applies to your offshore transition to India! Always a new path to follow on the Highroad.