This is me standing well out on the sand before the “turnaround rock”—our one and a half mile marker. (It’s 12-15 feet tall.) Just around Hug Point is our two mile marker. On the highway I still note such mile and half mile markers leftover from my years as a runner. We were out for almost two hours this morning—a good walk.

Arch Cape before 6am.

We are early risers, getting up with the sun and preferring to be out on our walk while the sand is empty of people. This morning we could look south toward the Cape and see fog as if it were moving onshore. There was little light in the sky and only the faintest hint of blue because while it was nearly six, the coast range cut off direct sunshine.

We sometimes go an entire summer without fog. This is not one of those summers. Especially when very hot weather is predicted for Portland, we see morning fog. Hot is not our preferred temperature. One thing we both enjoy about living at the coast is cool weather.

Looking north a moment later.

We turned north, which is our usual direction and for the next two miles, the fog thickened and we crossed and recrossed the tracks of a canid, likely a coyote. When Gary walked over to check out a “campsite” of logs and abandoned beach fire, the animal had already circled the same ground.

If I can look straight up into the sky and see faint azure, I know the whiteness will burn off and it might even become what we consider too warm by early afternoon. When the fog is very heavy, even on a day where sunshine will win out, it is possible to walk on the sand midway between surf and land and see neither wave nor house. The world becomes a mysterious and beautiful magic land of white.

Hug Point beach seastack reflected in a tide pool.

Sometimes we could not see what was just before or beside us until a seastack would loom out of the mist. We might have no clear idea where we were at all until we came to a familiar creek or bluff.

We found a couple of shells, and we spotted a live crab, a rabbit, tiny shrimp. The oystercatcher did not even bother to feign injury in order to lure us away from her nest. The babies were safe in the fog.

We were able to walk on sand all the way around Hug Point, which is unusual, but by then it was going on toward seven and other people had the same idea about enjoying the still, foggy day. On our way home, as we turned inland around Asbury Creek, we met a family of four, they stood aside for us, keeping distance. Then we stood aside so that they could pass us. Good morning! Good morning! We never got closer than ten or fifteen feet, but it was a cheerful and respectful passing.

We wished one another a good day.

And it was.

The border between sea and sky is often blurred on the horizon. This morning that boundary disappeared entirely just a few feet offshore. And walking a few feet further inshore, this line of waves vanished.

Looking east it is possible to see the silhouette of the headland high up where the fog thins.