Fifth Journey Day 3: Crab’s Passage

Date: May 11, 2025
Location: Tofino, Canada

I walked Chesterman Beach today, and the fog was so thick I could practically taste the salt on my lips. The world felt reduced to greys, creams, and the deep black of wet driftwood. Shapes popped up and then disappeared as I moved. There were logs that looked smooth from the wear and tear of time, seaweed laid out like random calligraphy, and tiny sandpipers darting at the edge of visibility.

I kept my sketchbook with me, but I kept it closed for a long time because I didn't want to interrupt the flow. The sand felt different under my boots too. It was coarse near the driftwood piles, and soft and velvety closer to the water. I drew some fragments. It's like a spiraled shell, the jagged shadow of a split log, or the looping trail of a crab's journey. The fog made everything feel like it was suspended in time, like it didn't have a scale or distance. I liked that.

There was no sound except for the steady sound of the tide and the occasional faint call of a gull in the distance. The lack of a visible horizon made the place a bit disorienting. I lost track of time and distance. It was only when I felt the chill in my fingers that I remembered to turn back.

Later, as I brushed the damp sand from the edge of my coat, I felt oddly satisfied by how little I had tried to impose structure. I hadn't "captured" the beach — I'd just had a quiet conversation with it. My sketchbook is full of negative space today, and that feels right.

I'm happy to leave most of the page blank.