Fifth Journey Day 4: Salt on Eyelashes
Date: May 12, 2025
Location: Ucluelet, Canada
I walked the Wild Pacific Trail today, just me and the crows and the occasional breath of wind through the trees. The trail wound close to the edge of cliffs where the forest met the ocean, with neither giving way. The trees were leaning at crazy angles. Their roots were exposed and digging into the thin soil, like they weren't going to let go either.
The sea was steady but you couldn't see it for long stretches — just the sound, a low, guttural rhythm pushing against stone. When I finally got through, I could see the waves for the first time: big gray-green waves crashing into jagged rocks below. I stood there for a while, taking it all in, but I didn't sketch anything.
Eventually, I plopped down on a wet, rough bench and opened my sketchbook. I didn't try to record the whole scene. It felt impossible, even foolish. I focused on fragments: the sharp twist of a wind-beaten pine, the texture of barnacles clinging to rock, the chaotic arc of a crashing wave reduced to a single ink stroke. I kept the page pretty much empty, just like how the fog left spaces in what you could see.
As I walked back, mist collected on my eyelashes, blurring my vision slightly. I was happy about it. It made everything softer. I realized today that I've been wanting clear outlines. I'd given in to the ever-changing, the incomplete, the short-lived. There was something comforting about not knowing exactly what the land ahead would look like.
My coat still smells faintly of cedar and salt. I think I'll remember that more vividly than any drawing.
